


To Choose a Guide

by neichan



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Child Abuse, M/M, Sentinel/Guide Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neichan/pseuds/neichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim needs a guide, and Blair needs a sentinel. Elliot is a sentinel who can't find a guide in New York. His wife leaves him when his behavior becomes unacceptable. He ends up in Cascade and is partnered with Jim Ellison. Tobias is a guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Para elegir un guía](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433762) by [JKlog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JKlog/pseuds/JKlog)



> Unbeta'd. Written with Joan Z. This is a WIP that I add to as my/our health permits. It is not abandoned! If you haven't read anything I've written before take note that I do often write things that are dark and difficult for some readers.

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Sentinel in all its glorious creative forms does not belong to us. Though we avidly read the many stories inspired by its characters, though we entertain too many bunnies to name...we are only playing with the recognizable characters and trying to show them a good time.

FB: Please cheer us up!

 

Jim looked up from his desk, straight into the glaring eyes of the cigar chomping Captain Simon Banks bearing down on him. "Something you want, Captain?" Jim asked warily.

 

Simon removed the unlit cigar from his mouth. Inhaling, Jim could smell the wet, masticated tobacco at the cigar's end. His stomach lurched just a little. He fought to get control of it. His senses had a mind of their own lately; his hyper senses were rapidly becoming more of a curse than a gift.

 

"You planning to go to the guide meet Saturday?" The deceptively casual tone of Banks’ voice was completely contradicted by the fierce gleam in his eye. Even having trouble with his senses Jim Ellison didn't miss the message in the look. Options weren't being discussed. This was an order and there was only one right answer. Stubbornly, Detective James Ellison refused to give that answer.

 

"No," Jim said, trying a redirect. He knew he had little chance of distracting his superior officer. Still nothing ventured, nothing gained. He really didn't want to go to another meet for the rest of his life. He'd met his now ex-wife and ex-guide Carolyn Plummer at a meet. And that hadn't worked out so well. "I was planning to see if I could find a lead on this cold case I'm working on. The family deserves closure. It has been six months since we've come up with anything new." 

 

Simon's gaze narrowed at him and Jim knew the gambit had failed. Aw, hell. Jim prepared for the lecture he'd already endured more than once.

 

"Forget the cold case, Jim. You know the law. All Sentinels working for law enforcement agencies must have a guide. I've given you all the leeway I can on this. The Powers That Be gave us two months to get it sorted. I've given you that plus two extensions. Either you have a guide by Monday morning or you're confined to desk work until you do. The state is cracking down on guide-less sentinels since that incident in Seattle. People died, Jim. A sentinel died, and she took her entire SWAT team with her. Even the damn dog died." Sounded oddly funny put like that, but sadly it was true. The team mascot had been among the casualties.

 

"I know, Simon. I read about it. I saw it on the news more times than I can stand to remember. But I work alone and I don't need a partner or a guide. Keeping me in the field doesn't put anyone else at risk."

 

"What about the public?" Simon refused to relent. "Don't they have the right to a fully functioning officer when you are working for them? Serve and Protect. That is the motto. And what about when you need back-up? You're not alone then. There is nothing you can say to change my mind. I will not put a less than 100% functional officer on the streets. It's not how I run my department and frankly even if you don't care about putting yourself at risk, I do. Get a guide, Ellison. Or you are going to sit right here at this desk until you retire. Or I do."

 

Jim glared at his friend. "I am not a risk to the public." He growled. He saw the two detectives with desks closest to his own stand up and quietly but quickly leave the bullpen, they were careful not to make eye contact with either him or Simon. They were in such a hurry to leave that Rafe left his 800 dollar jacket draped over the back of his chair. Megan, the only woman in the department made no move to leave. Her unnaturally still posture let Jim know she was listening with every gossip hungry cell in her long, lean body. 

 

Simon leaned in, lowered his voice. "Think about what you just said to me not 60 seconds ago. 'Keeping me in the field doesn't put anyone else at risk'. Even if that were true it puts you at risk. Not that I agree with your assessment. Sheila Fargo in Seattle thought she wasn't a risk to others. She was dedicated to her team, respected them. She had twelve years of experience, four years in SWAT. She should have been the last person to put anyone at risk. She knew her job. But...it didn't work out well for anyone involved when she went into a zone." Simon straightened to his full height of six foot six. "I've read her entire file. It is mandatory reading for all commanders with sentinels on their teams. I would have been proud to have her work in my department. But look what happened when she refused to take a new guide. Eight officers died. It is not going to happen to you while I have any say about it. I will not stand by and do nothing. The Chief won't let it happen either. I've gotten the final word. 'Get Ellison a guide. Now'." His huge finger stabbed at the desk top to emphasize how serious he was. Papers rustled, slid. Jim sighed.

 

"Come on, Captain," Jim said not liking how close to a whine came out of his own mouth. "It isn't like I haven't been looking. Most of the available guides are women and I don't want a female partner, again; and the others... they just don't smell right. They all smell like milk the day before it goes sour. I can't live with that for the rest of my life, hell I can't live with it for ten minutes."

 

"Sorry Jim," Banks said, "My hands are tied on this. You know I don't want to lose my best detective, so go to that meet and pick out a guide or do desk work until you can find one. It's your choice." He was silent for a moment. Jim's hearing warbled unsteadily as he waited for the next part. "You know it can work, it works for most sentinels. Carolyn just wasn't the right guide, but you can have it, if you just stop dragging your damn feet and get a good field guide."

 

"A good field guide", Jim gave a sarcastic little laugh, "Carolyn agreed to be just that and then she changed her mind and decided she didn't want to work in the field. She wanted to be a scientist. She expected me to follow her like a good Beta sentinel. Only I am an Alpha sentinel. I am not suited to being stuck in a lab doing CSI work beside my guide; I need to work in the field. So she left me, divorced me. I don't want to go through it again. I should have stayed in the military." Even knowing that he'd been betrayed by a superior officer, Jim felt that way. The military would have found him a guide, assigned him. He wouldn't have to go look on his own, and end up choosing another wrong guide. It would have been his job and his guide’s job to work together and get along.

 

Simon drew in a huge breath. He knew all of this. He felt for Jim. Plummer had betrayed her sentinel by pursuing her own career. Simon wasn't sure he blamed her. She hadn't been a field guide, and she'd known it. She'd stuck it out with Ellison for a lot longer than he'd expected. He'd been surprised that she hadn't been killed. Ellison had looked out for her, had been protective, and had slowed down to keep pace with her. It couldn't have lasted. Carolyn had done the right things for herself, for her own life. But it hadn't made it easier on Jim. Jim was left guide-less. 

 

Add to that, Carolyn had been bitter over the failure of her partnership and marriage. Not vindictive exactly, but she'd talked with friends in the department about her disappointments. Some of which were personal. Some that put into question Jim as a man and a lover. Carolyn had been disappointed in her marriage. Jim, after a few drinks had confided in Simon that Carolyn needed to be in charge in the bedroom. Jim hadn't been able to accommodate that need of hers and meet his own needs. His skin crawled when he was in a position of vulnerability. The failed attempt at using handcuffs to spice up their sex lives had been an absolute disaster. Carolyn had been disappointed. Looking in from the outside, Simon had only seen they were a stunningly poor match sexually as well as emotionally.

 

"Jim, this time you might meet the right guide. It doesn't have to go like it did with Carolyn. Not this time." It was a weak attempt to cheer the sentinel on and it fell utterly flat. Jim’s expression was grim. Simon cleared his throat when his voice roughened. He stiffened his backbone. "There is no choice, detective. You have your orders. Go to the meet. Get yourself a guide, or sit behind a desk until you do." Simon strode away, a suspicious lump in his throat making it hard to swallow. 

 

Jim dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing hard. He listened to the escalating whine of the computer in front of him. Being a sentinel sucked. 

 

***

 

Blair was not a happy potential guide. He had been told in guide school that he stood little likelihood of being chosen. Male guides were a a capricious fluke of DNA. For centuries it had been thought that a true guide needed two X chromosomes. Male guides were thought to be non existent. Until blood screening tests had come along and poked a big damn hole in that assumption. Blair himself had been part of that research and development when he was only 17 years old. He'd been as floored as the others. He, in his eager naivete, had believed a whole new world would open up. He'd had a personal stake in it when it turned out he tested positive for the guide markers. 

 

Things hadn't worked out that way. He was still involved in research, most of it cutting edge. And his books were widely accepted as the best source of insight into sentinel life and behavior. But no one wanted him to lecture. His name, Blair, could be mistaken as a woman's name, but when he was seen standing up at the lectern no one could mistake him for female. It was often a nasty shock for the uninformed who attended his few seminars. Sentinels and guides alike weren't happy with a male guide being seen as an expert on them. And having the poor taste to shove his gender in their faces. It offended their sensibilities. Blair allowed himself a half-hearted smile at his pathetic joke. Sentinels wanted female guides. Blair wasn't one. No one wanted him. 

 

Beta Sentinels strongly preferred female guides and Alpha Sentinels preferred female guides but might grudgingly accept a male guide if they were going into combat zones and had a career in the military or other high risk work. Blair had never been interested in fighting a war or killing people for a living. Nor was he comfortable with a possessive and authoritarian Alpha sentinel who would want to dominate him, constantly pushing him around; Blair was willing to settle for equal partners, but he was truthful enough to know that he liked to run his own life without interference. He had a superior I.Q., had been a child prodigy. So why should he have to submit to some walking bag of sensory overload; after all wasn't a guide supposed to give guidance? Blair sighed, his fiercely defiant mood deflating. Apparently not.

 

Blair stepped up to the check-in table in the hotel lobby when he finally made it to the head of the line and gave his name. "Sandburg, Blair," he said handing over his Summons card. Sentinels got an invitation to attend. Guides got a Summons. The visit today was mandatory for every guide here. A cattle call. Or meat market might be the better term. Sentinels were sexy. They liked sex. The better looking guides stood a better chance of getting selected. And the women. Not a lot of sentinels wanted to waste sperm on a male guide who couldn't ever conceive and carry their child. Sentinel's wanted children. Lots of children. It had to do with the mating drive, passing on your genes, securing your territory, adding to the Pack. Blair wasn't ever going to get pregnant no matter how hard he tried. 

 

The security guard took the card and looked at his list. "Blair Sandburg", he said, his lips pursing a bit, making a very neat blue ink check next to Blair’s name. His wrinkling nose was telling Blair the man was a sentinel. Just the thought of a male guide was too much for the guy to handle and remain polite. With two fingers the Guard took out a 5X7 placard with large bright red letters that read: 'Warning, unsuitable as guide to an Alpha Sentinel', and handed the card to Blair. "By law you have to keep this in plain view at your table for the duration of the meet; failure to comply could result in a fine or jail time."

 

"Yeah, Yeah," Blair said, as he took the placard from the guard. "I know the drill." He knew all about it, and resented the hell out of the requirement. He stomped off to a table as far from the entrance as he could get, which wasn't far. The tables were set in a circle so that sentinels could walk around the room freely while moving from table to table to interview potential guides. Interview was another euphemism for 'sniff, taste, leer, spindle and mutilate'. He'd witnessed sentinels undress guides they were interested in. Not often, but it had happened before the supervisors could hustle a sense driven sentinel and his object of interest into one of the private interview rooms. Of course it had never come close to happening to Blair. 

 

Blair knew from experience that he would not be successfully interviewed. Alphas would see the warning and pass him by with hardly a glance unless it was an unpleasant one and Beta's were only interested in female guides. So it would just be another Saturday wasted, sitting in a room when he could be doing other things, interesting things. The waste of time just made him damn mad.

 

Carefully and prominently he propped up the card with its violent red message and settled in to read.

 

*** 

 

Jim came into the meet and began looking around. Most of the ‘potentials’ were female and he eliminated them as possibilities right away. Carolyn had proved just how unsuited female guides were for a man like him, a sentinel who was a field officer and wanted to stay that way. He wasn't much interested in being put on his back yet again by any woman. He swept his gaze around. But this meet, unlike others did have a good selection of male potentials. At least five. Six if that long haired creature in the far corner was male and not a really butch woman. Jim walked over the the area where the males guides were sitting together in a rough attempt at solidarity and was immediately assaulted with the scent of anger. 

 

Holy crap. The smell was strong enough to make him stagger, which brought five of the males to their feet in a surge of helpful aid. Hands reached out. Jim forced himself not to cringe back. Guides were too touchy. He let them catch him, tolerated the little petting strokes they stole. He felt their hunger. Being male guides, Jim thought, they probably hadn't been able to get their hands on a sentinel since guide school. They surrounded him. He forcibly quelled a shudder. Then another. They leaned against him as if they couldn't help themselves. All but the pissed off little man in the chair who just turned another page of the huge tome he was reading, never looking up.

 

That bugged Jim Ellison. And it intrigued him. He was a good prospect as a sentinel, an Alpha. If he'd wanted he could have any one of the female guides here. But this little pipsqueak of a ~male~ guide wouldn't even look at him. This close up he was sure the guide was male, he had a five o'clock shadow that was way too heavy for any woman. 

 

Gently Jim extricated himself from the constricting group hug the other male guides had him in. He stepped over to the man in the chair who was trying to read. He planted his feet in front of the chair and waited. Nothing. The man didn't look up or even acknowledge his presence. Ellison stayed put. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and glowered down at the oblivious man. The hippy flipped another page, pushing his glasses up his nose when they slipped down. 

 

Six minutes. Jim Ellison listened to every second of the time tick away as the fuming guide ignored him, pretending to read. Finally the little man put the book aside with a sigh and Jim thought he'd at last get some kind of acknowledgement. Instead, the guide put the book into a huge, ratty looking excuse for a backpack/bookbag at his feet and then settled into the big chair, crossing his legs into a lotus position, drew in a huge breath, let it out, and closed his eyes. 

 

Stunned, Jim realized the man wasn't going to pay him even the most rudimentary attention, the polite effort of looking at him or speaking to him. He was flabbergasted. Once he showed interest in any guide they were quickly all over him, eager to please. He'd never been ignored. He discovered he didn't like the experience one bit.

 

He stayed where he was, thinking hard. His first impulse to shout at the man probably wouldn't have a good result. Nor would tipping the well upholstered chair on its side. Frustration building, Jim became aware of an elusive scent growing in the air. He couldn't pinpoint it. He sniffed, shifted his feet, ran into someone standing too close to his left. He turned, saw another sentinel, also tall, muscular, wearing a badge on his belt. Jim growled at him.

 

The sentinel growled right back, but his growl sounded a little startled and definitely less a true threat than Jim's growl. Holding the man's gaze, Ellison backed him away from the corner of male guides. The other sentinel went, reluctantly. Jim showing his bright, strong white teeth being the final extra push to get him out of Jim's temporary territory. 

 

Jim returned to his position in front of the guide who was ignoring him. Only to find his way cut off by two more sentinels, one a female with gorgeous long legs and blonde hair. She looked at him seductively, pressing her breasts forward to distract him. They were fine breasts. Full and high, and he could see the points of her nipples pushing against her shirt, a glance down showed him she had fine, wide hips. He licked his lips convulsively. He nearly stepped towards her, until he noticed the other sentinel with her was about to lay hands on the guide...HIS guide.

 

Ellison hadn't spent six years in the special forces without learning a few ways to move a person out of his way. He chose one of the less lethal ones now. The intrusive male sentinel ended up sprawled on his back, blocking the female's access to the hairy guide. Ellison stepped up and took his place back in front of the chair. He saw one of the guide's eyes was slitted open. The iris was a dark, deep, jewel-like blue. Jim discovered the alluring scent was coming from the guide he stood in front of. It was no longer covered by the scent of anger and frustration. Building was a scent that transmitted... surprise. 

 

There was a tussle behind Ellison before he could step that last step forward and claim his guide. Hands seized him. Spun him around. He growled a warning, arms flying up, breaking the hold on his jacket. The challenging sentinel tumbled away from him and Jim snarled his contempt. Untrained. A harder grip fastened on his wrist, pulled. Ellison let the hand turn him into position before he struck. Two blows and the man was down, groaning. Jim felt the adrenaline that always surged through him when he fought. He shifted forward, another sentinel was coming. Exhilaration flowed through his veins like champagne. The thrill of the fight.

 

He put this one down with the same efficiency he'd used on the others. Barely needing any effort to do it. They were soft, these sentinels. City sentinels. None of them had served, he'd bet his eye teeth. Except....that one, the one with a badge who was watching him, just outside of the imaginary circle that to step inside of would mean Jim was being challenged. The man's eyes flicked to where the guide was sitting, alone as all the other males had fled the area. The guide who now sat with eyes open and jaw dropped. 

 

The other policeman smiled faintly. He touched his hand to his forehead in a small salute. In doing so he surrendered the guide to his opponent, admitting that Ellison had gotten there first, staked his claim and that no challenge was coming from him. Then the strange sentinel turned on his heel and left the meet, but not before Jim Ellison saw the name on his lapel and the insignia on his badge. Stabler. NYPD. Too bad. Jim had a feeling that a fight with him would have been fun. That just maybe the man would have made Jim work for his victory.

 

Jim turned to look at the guide he'd won. Only to see the little man was shoving his things into his pack and shrugging into his coat, a scowl on his face. Two sentinel security guards stood next to him, frowning, nightsticks in hand. 

 

"We thought you'd be trouble. Get out. And don't bother coming back here. No sentinel in his or her right mind would take you." The older of the two who were standing over the resigned guide said. 

 

"Makes my skin crawl." The younger man said, shuddering as if to prove his point. 

 

Jim felt a wave of pure rage. They were interacting with his guide, forcing him to leave. Without Jim. 

 

The guide yelped when Jim took hold of the back of his bulky jacket propelling him between the two startled Beta sentinels. Knowing he wasn't really hurt just shocked, Jim Ellison didn't slow down until he had the smaller, hairier man out of the meeting room and down the hall, through a fire door, then another, and they were in the basement of the building. Alone.

 

Jim pressed the guide up against the brick wall, towering over him, displaying his dominance. Waiting to be admired. For the guide to surrender, to submit. He fumbled with the guide's coat, trying to get down to skin, spread his fingers over the olive expanse of the sleek flesh he knew was there.

 

The sharp pain in his instep caught him utterly by surprise. As did the elbow in his gut. And he barely turned his hip in time to ward off the quick knee that was very accurately aimed for his crotch. He wrapped his hands in more fabric, heaved, lifting the far lighter frame up and pinning the guide to the wall. Then he bared his teeth and lunged. He shoved his nose into the thick brown/coppery curls, rooting until he found the spot, just right, rich with scent behind the guide's ear. He sniffed, sighed, sniffed again. Licked. Hmmmm'd.

 

Blair's head was spinning. He was fighting the big storm-trooper type who had grabbed him and literally dragged him out of the meet without a word. Just grunts and growls. He'd been too stunned watching the series of very short fights that had erupted in front of himself to run when he had the chance. He'd stayed, watched, gape mouthed, as if he didn't know exactly what was happening. As if he hadn't been called the foremost authority on sentinel behavior in the US. As if he couldn't buy a clue. The golden-boy of sentinel research, the man who knew it all, just sat there until the security guards had jolted him out of his shock. 

 

Primal behavior was never good. Fighting over a guide, just because it was himself who was being fought over, he'd not clued in. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now here he was with a growling, snarling bag of sentinel hormones who, unless he was very much mistaken was going to claim him without a single word. Rape him if he wasn't lucky. Blair took the only action that might get through. 

 

He stomped his boot down on top of the sentinel's heavy work shoes. He got a grunt out of that, nothing more, so he used his elbow, one hard one to the gut. But the gut was made of the next best thing to steel and the sentinel hardly seemed to notice, tearing at Blair's clothing, not at all deterred. That only left...he jerked his knee up as hard as he could. He was not going to allow himself to be raped. But the sentinel only twisted his hips negligently and the knee missed. Then Blair was lifted, slammed up against the wall, held there and sniffed.

 

The first sniff made his hair stand on end all over his body. The second sniff made his body tingle, his limbs grew heavy, his hands, scrabbling upward to claw at the handsome face, relaxed, clung instead of clawed. Oh, shit. Then the licking. Sharp teeth ghosting across the vulnerable skin of his throat. Biting, never breaking skin, he was flipped around, still held against the wall, his feet dangling inches up off the floor. He tried to move back, push away from the wall, get back to the ground...then he could run.

Couldn't he? He wasn't sure. Why should he run? He couldn't remember. There was a reason, surely. He strained to remember. 

 

Teeth. Teeth. Against his throat, he whimpered. Searching little nips. Seeking...then they fastened on the nape of his neck. Blair went limp.

 

Ten years. Looking. Wanting. Wondering. Giving up. Despair. Struggling. And then...this. Blair. Jim. 

 

One Sentinel. A Guide.

 

At last, Sentinel and Guide.

 

tbc....


	2. Two

Chapter 2

 

Blair sat at the table deliberately counting each time he chewed his mouthful of food. 

He was not looking forward to working as a field guide alongside a sentinel detective; especially one who was so Alpha. The police were nothing but a bunch of jack-booted...his mother's voice echoed the sentiment in his head, and he cut it off. He didn't exactly feel the same, but Blair had had his share of suspicious looks and unfavorable encounters with police all over the world. Something to do with his hair and clothes making him look like a man who couldn't be relied on to respect the law. 

"Chief, can you speed it up a bit?" Jim called out.

The sound of the sentinel's voice jerked Blair out of his private revelry; he glanced up to see Jim striding across the living room, buttoning his pale blue shirt. His short hair gleamed wetly, smoothed down for work. He didn't have a tie on, but he looked crisp and clean and very well groomed. His fingers were quick, long and strong looking. Blair had a momentary flash of those hands on his own skin, touching him the way they had last night, only this time they would go further. 

He flushed and lowered his head, fighting for composure. They hadn't done anything that could be called sexual. Blair was pretty sure Jim didn't go that way with men. And while he wasn't exactly opposed to homosexuality as a concept, Blair had only tried it a few times in practice, and only then with sentinels he had hoped to bond with. None of those encounters had turned out well. Women were more his thing. 

"I don't want to be late for my first day with a guide," Jim said, unaware of the thoughts flitting through Blair's mind. "We have to get you sworn in and qualified to carry before we get a case."

Blair looked up at the sentinel, his sentinel, his face startled. They were an odd couple. A gun toting cop and a pacifist. It wasn't a promising combination unless they could find a lot of ways to compromise. Shit. Shit. Shit. Blair shook his head as Jim strode past. He really shouldn't have let his need for a sentinel get him into this situation. There was no way it was going to work for either of them. 

Blair had his jeans on, and the best that could be said about them and his flannel shirt was they were clean. He wondered briefly if he should hunt down a hairband to subdue his riotous curls. He ran a hand through his hair. Then he sighed and faced Jim.

For the first time that morning he met the big man's eyes. "I'm not carrying a gun!" He said with a firmness that was the only thing he was sure of at this point. "I hate those things. The only reason they exist is to shoot people. I'm your guide and I'll do my job but I WILL NOT carry a gun." He didn't add that he was Jim's guide for now. Who knew if that would be true tomorrow. 

"Whoa there, Chief," Jim said, surprised at the outburst from what until now, had been a quiet, mild mannered guide. At least he'd thought Blair was. But now he recalled the anger that had poured off the other man at the meet. Blair wasn't some passive, untried guide. The degree of rage that he'd let seep out at the meet proved that. 

"Aren't you trained as a field guide?" Hadn't there been something Jim saw that said Blair spent time in the field? Jim was sure that he'd seen those words. He frowned, going back through his near photographic sentinel recall. The scent came back to him, the tantalizing scent of the man who was now in his loft, his guide. But that wasn't what he was searching for, he tucked scent back, and let sight go to the front. Scent was his strongest sense, and it always tried to come to the fore. 

The words on the card came into focus..... and then Blair's voice, a thin tone of irritation and something flatter tinging the next sentences. Anger? No. Misery? Not quite. No it was more....resignation. Yes. That was it. Jim raised his brows. What was Blair giving up on? Blair's speech went on and Jim listened. 

"If you had taken the time to read my guide resume before dragging me out of the meet; you would have seen that I'm an anthropologist not a law enforcement field guide. My field work was in anthropology not law enforcement. I've spent months in the field, I have been to Peru, Chile, Paraguay, Brazil and most of the other countries in South America without having to carry a gun, and lived to tell the tale. I won't carry one here." 

"In case you hadn't noticed," Jim said pointedly, "I had other things to do besides reading your resume, chief, like fight off a couple of other sentinels. I didn't exactly have time to sit down with a cup of coffee and read all twenty-five pages." Jim paced around the kitchen rubbing his jaw. What the hell good was an anthropologist/guide to a sentinel like him? And didn't Blair appreciate that Jim had fought off all the others, showed him that Jim was the best candidate? 

"Have you even heard of Blair Sandburg?" Blair asked, his tone was both curious and wary. The despair had left it, and in Jim's estimation that was a good thing. "Do you have any idea of what I do for a living?" 

The blank look on the sentinel's face was answer enough. 

Blair put his head down onto his folded arms and groaned. Jim didn't associate the name with him, Blair could see the wheels turning and coming up zeros all across. Just fabulous. 

"Of course I've heard of her," Jim said slowly, as if annoyed by the question, not seeing the relevance to the current situation. "She wrote that book on sentinel behavior, history, something like that. Got it all wrong." Blair didn't take that cause up, despite a surge of annoyance at the undeserved criticism. He still had to make Jim realize that he was ~that~ Blair Sandburg, then he could defend his conclusions. One step at a time. 

"Except she is a he," Blair said, patiently, waiting for the coin to drop. "Do you even know my name? Did you have any idea who I was before you fought off those other sentinels and pounced?" He waited. Saw Jim sorting through this memory. The dawning realization was as blatant as the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Oh, good, he thought sourly, Tarzan did have a brain. 

"You're that Blair Sandburg." Jim said. "Oh, shit. Why didn't you tell me?" The horror on his face was almost comical, the accusation in his tone, unmistakable. Blair put his head back into his hands and allowed himself a self-pitying moan, sinking deeper into the chair and lightly knocking his forehead against the top of the table. He'd known there were going to be problems. Of course there were. It was too much to hope he'd found a sentinel who he was going to bond with.That was just a dream that was never coming true. 

"You weren't exactly in a listening state of mind," Blair said finally, speaking to the table top. "Besides, would it have made a difference? You dragged me out of the meet, I didn't drag you. You pushed me up against a wall and were two seconds away from ravaging me." The resentment of years of disappointment welled up in his voice, he was getting angry all over again, he wanted out, right now. This whole sentinel/guide bonding crap.... He stood up, stopping himself before he said something stupid, before he begged Ellison to give him a chance. "It was fun while it lasted. You can drop me off at Rainier. I'll sign the annulment, just send it through to me care of the university." Jim was staring at him like he was speaking Martian. 

"What?" Blair snapped. "I don't have any money, so don't think you can take me to court and ask for a severance award. And I had the card up, it was your fault that you didn't read any of it." No, the sentinel had been too busy staking a claim to read anything. More primal animal than literate man. Blair shook his head. 

Still, Jim looked at him, not saying anything. Blair sighed. He turned to pick up his backpack. "I'll take a cab. I guess you can't stand to be near me right now. I understand. Not like it hasn't happened before." In fact it happened almost all the time. At the meets sentinels passed him by, scared off by the warning card, but the ones he met in everyday life found him overwhelming. Enticing. They pretty much wanted to bed him, then run when he started talking. The first few times he'd been flattered at their interest in him, at how they looked at him, touched him. He had thought that sex would lead to a bond; then he figured it out. They wanted only sex, a temporary fix, and then they wanted nothing more to do with him. And in Blair's opinion the sex had sucked each and every time. This time he was getting out before another sentinel got sex out of him then tossed him aside.

"Where do you think you are going?" Jim asked, moving to block the door, looking suddenly taller and wider. "And what gave you the idea I would agree to an annulment? Do you always make decisions that affect other people without asking them how they feel?" Jim was mad, and not only because he hadn't taken the time to read the card, or the resume. No, he was pissed that the fur-ball of a guide was actually thinking he was going to be allowed to walk out. He was Jim's Guide. He didn't get to walk out on that. They had made an agreement, a commitment, Jim had claimed him, in front of witnesses. Now the little hippie was going to just leave? Over Jim's dead body was that happening.

Blair sensed the tension ratcheting upward. He set his bag on the floor and raised his hands, not liking the look in the other man's eyes. He kept his voice even, soothing. No one ever told him he couldn't talk down an upset sentinel, no matter how agitated. He stood still. One thing that was not a good idea was backing up, what worked for other's when facing angry sentinels, reducing the threat by slinking away, didn't work for guides. A sentinel usually interpreted a guide backing away as a guide trying to flee. Blair stood absolutely still. 

Jim noted the guide wasn't trying to leave. He sniffed. The guide didn't smell like he was afraid. There was no tension in his muscles, no preparation to run. The face was calm, deep blue eyes fixed on him, paying attention. Doing what a guide should. Sentinels should be the focus of their guides. It was only right. Jim kept his gaze fastened on the guide as he stalked forward. The guide sat down in the nearby chair, moving slowly, putting himself in a subservient position, keeping his eyes down, his posture quiescent, telegraphing his intent not to cause trouble. Jim let him sit, he approved of the guide's choice. 

The touch on the back of his head worried Blair. It gave the sentinel too many options. A quick twist and a snapped neck was one. One of the big, calloused hands slid around from the back of Blair's head to his throat, cupping around his chin as well as the more vulnerable soft parts of the throat. All it would take was a crooking of the powerful fingers and his throat would be torn out. But he held still, utterly immobile. Only the rapid increase in his heart beat hinting at his agitation. 

The first gust of warm breath against the side of his face was a shock. In his distraction, paying attention to the two hard hands that held his head and throat, Blair hadn't noticed the sentinel bending down. Now he was hyper-aware of the man so close that he felt the heat radiating from Jim's skin. The hand at his nape, tightened, not painfully, but lifting his hair away from the back of his neck. It was impossible to control the shiver that shook him. Blair let out a squeak as the sentinel moved closer, wrapping a fist in the long hair, forcing his head down, elongating the exposed length of his neck. 

Teeth grazed the back of his neck, fastening firmly, like a great cat biting into the ruff at a kitten's neck. One part of Blair's mind catalogued the behavior, guessing that the sentinel's spirit form was some kind of feline. The other part was far less coherent, and it was the part of him that was responsible for the groan as the teeth fastened, repositioned themselves for a better angle and grip, then bit down again. Blair felt his knees turn to water, his pelvis and everything from waist to knee go hot and golden. A shudder shook him. He was being marked. For the first time in his life he was experiencing what it was like to be marked by a sentinel who was claiming him as his own, once and for all, until death do us part. Blair wasn't going to get out of this bond. He wasn't going to walk away. 

The teeth let up and the hot breath moved to his ear, lips fastened onto the lobe and suckled until Blair groaned.

Jim smiled and let go. He had gotten his point across; the guide wanted this bond as much as he did. He was about to stand when he heard the ghostly voice of Carolyn begging him, "Talk to me." He hadn't talked to her, hadn't answered her plea. She had left him, at least partly because he didn't talk to her, didn't listen when she needed to talk to him. He stopped moving away.

He wasn't going to make the same mistake with this guide.

Blair felt the hot breath blow into his ear and felt the mood of the sentinel change from pure dominance to a calm assertive alpha prime. Time seemed to stop as the realization hit him. Jim wasn't just a sentinel; he was Alpha Prime. Blair closed his eyes, relaxing his shields, reaching out, passively receptive... and his mind immediately showed him a picture of a Black Panther standing at the opening of a temple. It roared into the night and was answered by the howl of a wolf. The picture stayed as his sentinel's whisper filled the jungle. A lure he could not resist, though he almost wished he could. He shivered, embarrassed as his body arched into the hand that rested on his back. It was a purely submissive move, and he hated it. He didn't have a submissive bone in his body. He'd never let any of the other sentinels top him. 

"Would it have made a difference if I had read the card?" Jim asked, then instantly shook his head, not waiting for Blair to answer. "Not then, not now. You're the only one; the only guide I want; the only guide worth fighting for. I knew as soon as I picked up your scent." His blue eyes were pale, almost as much grey as blue when Blair's much darker ones met them. Blair closed his eyes, emotion overwhelming him. He saw the spirit animals again. 

The wolf loped up the temple stairs and the big cat licked its muzzle before they both turned and disappeared into the temple. Blair opened his eyes, tears rolled down his face as he lifted his head and looked up at his sentinel, "I'll stay," he whispered, seconds ticking by as Jim lowered his face towards his guide's, then as their cheeks brushed, he finished in a whisper, "but I'm not going to carry a gun."

***

Joan Z and Ne'ichan


	3. Three

Chapter 3

 

Jim pulled his truck into a parking space in back of the precinct house. He waited for Blair to slide out of the truck before he began telling him how the first day was going to go. 

Blair huddled into his jacket like a turtle as he listened to Jim. It was cold, the wind biting into his exposed skin, slipping down the collar of his jacket, just short of being cold enough for snow to stick on the ground. He shivered. His tennis shoe skidded on the icy blacktop; Jim caught his arm, steadying him. Blair fought the urge to look around, see if anyone noticed. 

His backpack, which he'd carefully stuffed with things to keep him occupied in case there was nothing much to do, hung from his right shoulder. He'd slung the well used pack on the side away from his sentinel, because he noticed that Jim habitually touched him, either with a hand on the back of the smaller man's neck or he stood very close, occasionally close enough for their bodies to brush. Jim became restless and was difficult to calm if anything obstructed his access to Blair. So Blair tried to make sure nothing did. Dealing with a snappish sentinel was not fun and he wanted to keep this getting-to-know-you phase on a good track. The whole bonding thing was proving to be quite an education.

"We have to check in with Captain Banks first," Jim said scanning the parking lot for anyone threatening or overly interested in his guide while they walked toward the back door of the station house, "he won't believe I have a guide until he lays eyes on you." His hand rested firmly on Blair's back guiding him across the lot and toward the building. "Once we get that done, we can go to personnel to get your ID. What ever you do DON'T say anything about the gun issue. When he asks I'll tell him you're not certified yet." 

Jim glanced down at the shorter man. "Are you sure there isn't something you can do about your hair? Pull it back?" He didn't say, -get a hair cut', but he thought it, his tone slightly aggrieved. The long curls were frizzed by the moisture in the air, it looked utterly wild and uncontrolled. The dark, richly colored mass was hard to look away from. Jim licked his lips, then forced himself to make another visual sweep of the lot. He wasn't exactly a man comfortable with anything out of control. 

Blair snorted, but otherwise ignored Jim's question, it had better have been rhetorical, not a suggestion or an order. Blair liked his hair just like it was. And last night Jim had seemed to enjoy running his fingers through it, rubbing his nose against the base of Blair's skull and inhaling, his warm breath ghosting across his nearly incoherent guide's skin. Blair hadn't quite grasped just how sensual sentinel's were. Not until he had his own.

Jim stopped with one hand on the handle, ready to open the steel reinforced door; he turned to look into Blair's eyes, pinning Blair with the intensity of his pale gaze. "Doesn't mean I'm going to force you to learn to shoot, it just means that I'm keeping the Captain off my back about it for now. Are we agreed on that?" He wasn't ready to give up on training Blair to use a gun, but he'd lay the issue to one side while he thought of how to win the argument. It wouldn't be easy; if there was anything he had learned about Blair in the short time they had been together it was that he would stand his ground for what he believed in. Still, he had his beliefs and instincts, too, and his guide should be protected. As Blair was currently unarmed that meant Jim would be at his side every minute, everywhere. That could cause problems in the field and Jim was planning to use those problems to reason with his guide.

"Yeah," Blair said with a sigh, "I got it. Keep my mouth shut. Let him assume and don't correct..." 

Jim made a face. "Let's go," Jim said cutting off the conversation as he opened the door and ushered Blair through. 

Kid sure had a tendency to over think and talk too much, Jim thought, analyzing every little thing. It might be useful at a crime scene, putting observations into words, but there wasn't any reason to explain Jim's own reasoning back to him. It might become a very annoying habit. Though so far almost nothing his guide did was actually irritating. Blair had quickly adapted to staying at the loft, he'd noticed Jim's preferences, and kept himself occupied when they were together at home. Their first two days together were going very well and the third looked promising, too. 

Under the fluorescent lights Blair's hair seemed to draw Jim's eyes, a cloud of softness, brilliant highlights of red and copper, some almost purple. The scent of Blair intensified in the closeness of the station house, Jim breathed it in, even as his hands itched to reach out and smooth down the flyaway strands, sink his fingers into wild silk and feel it slide over his hands. Jesus. He shook himself, aware of the flush that bloomed over his skin. No thinking like that at work. 

Jim was blasted out of his thoughts as soon as he stepped into the bull pen and felt the presence of another sentinel in Major Crimes. Not only was another sentinel in his area, it was not one of the men he knew well by scent, though on second sniff there was something faintly familiar. He stepped in front of Blair and blocked the younger man from moving. He did not want Blair around an unknown and unpredictable sentinel. Especially not one who scented as un-bonded, because the man clearly was that. His scent was...incomplete. Jim moved his hand up Blair's arm and stopped, shielding him as he zeroed in with sight on the man he could see standing in Simon's office.

"What's wrong?" Blair whispered, feeling the sudden tension emanating from the sentinel who was now so close that Blair's nose was right up against his partner's jacket, he had to turn his head to breathe easily. Jim had pulled his guide in, now Blair was being held immobile and there was no mistaking the alert stance, the fine contraction of every muscle and the way Jim inhaled, deeply, with the tendency to lift his nose. It reminded Blair of a bloodhound picking up the scent. 

Jim didn't answer the quiet question and Blair refrained from asking it again and becoming a distraction, the sentinel continued to scan the room, fixing his senses on the intruder, recognizing him at once. It was the man who had backed off, reluctantly, at the Meet. Jim felt the rumble in his chest, an un-voiced growl; he saw the other sentinel's head lift and he recognized the bastard scenting the air and turning until their eyes met. The deep hazel-blue gaze smashed into arctic blue as they fixed on each other.

Jim saw Simon in his peripheral vision, could hear the bass voice of his Captain speaking, but neither he, nor the new sentinel, looked away. Jim put Blair firmly behind him, standing so virtually none of the guide showed as he faced the threat. 

There was no way that that sentinel was going to take Blair away from him now. He had done everything by the book. They were bonded and registered. Their fees were paid. Even Blair admitted the bond now. The guide was claimed and marked...the guide was HIS. Jim's grip tightened on Blair's arm when the guide tried to see around him, and he began to push Blair backwards, angling to the side of the room, he kept Blair out of the line of sight of the watching sentinel. Staying alert to any aggressive move their way, Jim reacted to the need to get Blair to a secure location, then he could deal with whatever was going down in Bank's office. 

"Ooh," Blair squeaked, half tripping over his own feet. "What's wrong, man, is something going down?" He asked as Jim frog-marched him toward the interview rooms. He almost dropped his pack trying to see around Jim and figure out what was going on. He held on to the heavy bag, barely, and gave up anything but staying upright. Then he saw where they were headed. Toward a series of rooms, all with the lights off or dimly lit. One door was closed, the others had dangling keys on hooks fastened above the locks. Blair knew what the rooms were. He dug his heels in. "Hey, wait a minute...." He protested, eyes going wide. Jim wasn't slowed down by Blair's resistance in the least.

"Shut up and stay here, " Jim ordered, as he shoved Blair into one of the rooms and locked the door from the outside, pocketing the key. Then he turned to face the problem in Banks' office. The problem who had come to stand in the doorway of the glass enclosed office and watch as Jim secured his guide. The problem who looked fit and strong and stood like a man who knew how to fight. That was OK, Jim knew how to fight, too. He knew how to fight down and dirty.

"Hey," Blair yelled, banging on the door, "Let me out of here, Ellison!" He kicked at the door, Jim absently cataloged the difference in the sound of fist versus booted foot contacting the heavy door as he moved away. "God damn it. You can't do this to me! I am not your prisoner! Let me out right the fuck now!"

The demand may as well have fallen on deaf ears. Jim's only concern at that moment was the un-bonded sentinel in Bank's office. A sentinel with potential access to his guide, a sentinel with proven interest in his guide. Priority one was taken care of, Blair was safe; now he could deal with the other sentinel. There was no way the stranger could get to his guide without fighting Jim for the key tucked in his pocket. Now there was only getting Simon's explanation, and getting rid of the man invading Jim's territory. 

Blair's continued shouts faded into the background of Jim's awareness. Time enough to deal with Blair's anger later.

***

"What the hell is he doing here?" Jim growled as he burst into the Captain's office, the stranger having backed out of the doorway and moved to stand near the desk again. "I don't know what he's told you, but it's all legal, the paperwork is signed and filed."

Simon's brows flew up at the tone. Jim did get mad from time to time, but he'd never sounded this bad, this aggressive. Jim was always controlled. Banks also saw how, after a momentary pause, the newest member of his squad backed up, giving up ground to the advancing man. For all the simplicity of the action, it was about as blatant a display of surrendering to dominance as Simon had seen in a while. Simon looked over at Jim. Jim clearly wasn't surprised by the action, in fact he seemed to expect it.The new-hire sentinel turned his body slightly, presenting a smaller target; Simon realized he expected to be physically attacked and was readying himself for it. 

"Well, good morning Jim," The Captain said with a forced smile and a tone of voice modulated to let Jim know that his rude entrance was not appreciated and would graciously be ignored, If he behaved himself now. Usually the voice worked, but not today. At least not quite. Jim's shoulders did not relax. His nostrils flared, his hands flexed into fists. Banks stepped around the desk and positioned himself so Jim would have to go past him to get to the new detective.

Jim glared up at him then swung his angry gaze back over to the strange sentinel. "What's he doing here, Captain?"

Banks knew the situation was barely contained and had to be defused, this new guy was smart he had assumed a sideways position of parade rest, feet apart, hands locked behind his back and head slightly lowered as soon as Jim entered. He was telegraphing his acceptance of Jim as the established sentinel in this territory and Jim should have responded to it, but he didn't. Maybe he wasn't attacking the guy but Banks could tell that Jim had not completely discarded the option of violence yet. 

"What the hell is the matter with you, Jim?" The captain asked, his voice completely even, quiet and firm, reasonable. " I don't expect this behavior from a bonded sentinel, especially not in my office, which I will remind you is not your territory. Stand down, now."

"He is un-bonded," Jim said ignoring the Captain and still glaring at the intruding sentinel who had wisely averted his gaze, but Jim saw he was still being watched from the corner of the other man's eyes, "and he was my competition when I took Blair at the meet. How do you expect me to react when I see him here? What is he doing here?" The response from the man partly behind Simon provided another clue he needed. 

"I'm not here to take your guide," the un-bonded sentinel said lifting his hands in surrender, keeping them well away from his body so the other would know he was not going for a weapon, or offering a threat. "I'm new to the area, I didn't even know you worked at this precinct. I'm a cop, I need a job. I was hired. This is my first day here."

"Jesus, is that what this is all about? Your guide?" Banks asked. "I had to stay on your back for six months before you finally picked a guide. Do you really think I'm going to let...or help... some strange sentinel to come in from the street and take her away?" He shook his head. "It was enough trouble to get you to choose her. There's no way in hell I'll go through that again."

"Him," Jim said, "Blair, my guide, is a man." 

Simon blinked. The impression he got from the small glimpse he had was one of way, way too much long curly hair. He shook his head absolutely refusing to allow the visualization of what guide gender meant between bonded sentinel and guide. 

"Male, female," Banks said with a stoic shrug, "I don't care just as long as I can get you back on the street. Lose the attitude now, Jim, or I will have to deem you unfit for street duty for a week," he showed his teeth in a broad grin, "and maybe you might benefit from a little talk with the psych department." It had always been an effective threat in the past and it worked a charm this time, too. 

Jim took a deep breath and let his anger ebb away, for now. After all the guy had signaled that the guide was Jim's and walked away rather than fight for him. He also couldn't deny there was something he liked about the guy. Appealing, a sentinel he'd like to have in his territory, as long as it was clear Jim was in charge. 

Banks saw the tension in Jim's muscles relax and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Now that's straightened out I want you to meet Detective Elliot Stabler. After years of nagging and waving your cleared case stats in their faces, Jim, the powers that be have seen the light and budgeted for another Sentinel Detective in Major Crimes. Detective Stabler has transferred in from New York where he worked the special victims unit for... How many years was it, detective?"

"Eleven years, Captain," Elliot answered. His stance was more relaxed now, but he'd returned his hands to their previous position behind his back. Banks approved, he moved back around his desk to sit in his chair.

"Detective Stabler," the Captain said, mentally bracing for Jim's reaction, "is going to be partnering with you, Jim."

"What?" Jim asked unable to hide the annoyance from his voice. "I work alone, you know that."

"Your lone ranger days are over, Jim," Banks said, his voice firm. "You have a guide who'll be your permanent partner as soon as he's field certified, but for now I need someone to show Detective Stabler the ropes here in Cascade and you need a partner. It is Stabler or Megan. Your choice, Ellison." Simon waited for the grimace and he wasn't disappointed. Jim nodded, expression sour. Simon didn't gloat. "So, Stabler is your partner."

Jim frowned, not only because he knew that there was no changing the Captain's mind in this area, but because he knew that Blair would never be fully certified as long as he refused to carry a gun. He had a nagging feeling winning the argument was not going to be easy.

"By the way, where is your guide, Jim?" the Captain asked. "I saw a glimpse of him when you came in. You didn't get a black and white to take him home did you?"

"No, he's here," Jim said. "I locked him in an interview room when I sensed another sentinel was here."

"You did what?..hell, Jim, get him out of there now. Just what we need," Banks muttered as Jim left his office, "Guide abuse charges brought up against us on the first day." The Captain looked over at Detective Stabler still waiting in his office. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, "you're his partner, go with him."

Elliot turned and left the Captain's office allowing an ironic smile to cross his face for a moment. As far as he could see Cascade was going to be a lot like New York; His new partner was going to be as prickly as Liv. That old saying came to mind; the more things change the more they stay the same..

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Elliot opened the dresser drawer and put his clean socks inside. A dozen pair of new black socks to go with the five new suits he'd bought when he got the word he'd been hired. Bringing his old clothes had seemed like too much trouble. And they'd smelled, faintly, of family, home, and his now ex-wife Kathy. Being reminded of her, her scent, her touch, her skin was no longer a good thing. 

She'd asked, then begged him to undergo the controversial treatment that sometimes resulted in sentinel abilities going into latency. She had never been a fan of sentinels. The 5% possibility of permanent brain damage, of Elliot ending his days in a vegetative state had not registered on her radar as a significant concern. She was terrified of the thing her husband had become. His refusal to consider treatment spelled the final end of their marriage. 

Children were perceptive, Elliot's kids were no exception. They were aware of the growing tension and Kathy's eventual fear. She was afraid of him. Elliot closed the sock drawer. In the last year, while they were separated, he'd come very close to hating her, he was sure she hated him at the last. It hadn't really been her fault. Elliot was the one who had changed into something she couldn't love. 

Too much change. Too much going wrong. Nothing going right. Needing to find a guide. Not being able to. All of it added up, became too much. He'd snapped. And almost, very nearly, he'd come oh so close to hitting the woman he loved, had once loved. He didn't recognize the man he'd become. 

Now, in Cascade, he would make a new start. He missed his kids. He missed feeling like he had a home, a place where he belonged, was loved. Tonight, the only thing he had was a job, a roof over his head, and the certainty he needed a guide. Two out of three, but he had a feeling the third was the most important, the one he didn't have. 

Elliot wondered how things might have been, if he'd been the one to bond with Blair. He'd felt the pull from the guide at the Meet. It had been a powerful thing. Ellison got there first, was no pushover, but if Elliot hadn't been so freaked out over discovering the guide that finally meshed with him, even from afar, was male, he would have fought for Blair. 

Too late to go back and do it over. 

There would be a guide for him here, he refused to believe otherwise. There weren't as many sentinels here, not compared to the population in New York. The Prime of Cascade wasn't visible, wasn't part of an organized tribe, but Elliot felt him, his presence. He'd felt the invisible shield of awareness as soon as he'd stepped off the plane onto the soil of Cascade Territory. At first he'd thought he would have to turn around and leave, so strong was the sensation of being invaded, overwhelmed, judged. But within minutes it seemed he'd passed some sort of test, and the feeling of being assessed became bearable, less invasive, less like insects under his skin. 

Oddly, it got even better, once he met Ellison. No more prickles over his skin, no desire to look back over his shoulder. He could breathe easier. Just maybe, over time, Cascade would become part of Elliot's territory, and Elliot would become a welcome protector. 

Done with the laundry, Elliot wandered towards the small kitchen of the rental apartment. It was only a nook really, part of the larger room that made up the living room, the entire space only a little larger than the decidedly small bedroom. The thought that he would need to find something better was in the back of his mind. He would need to do it soon. This place was too small for him and a guide. He had a Mr Coffee coffee maker sitting on the tiny counter, taking up the lion's share of the available space, his first purchase, but it was too late for caffeine. He opened the fridge. 

There was one long-neck left out of the six-pack he allowed himself to buy. One six-pack at a time, the urge to drink was in no way diminished now that he was a free man. He knew what alcohol dependence could do to a strong man, his father had been strong once. And Elliot didn't feel strong any more. He took the last beer out and made his way to the easy chair placed strategically in the narrow space between the window, the square coffee table, and the ratty couch. 

The chair was comfortable enough, and clean if old. The couch...well it would do for non-sentinel company, if he ever had company. He twisted off the cap as he toed off his shoes, and took a generous swallow. It was cold, slightly bitter. And really good. He was glad there wasn't another waiting for him. If he wanted a second or a third he'd have to get up and go out to the store that was blocks away and buy it. It wasn't worth the trouble. He'd just savor the one he had. 

His feet hurt, a well remembered, general, and non-acute pain. Cops spent a lot of time on their feet, he and Ellison were no exceptions. They'd investigated, walked the city, talked to a dozen witnesses, strangely comfortable, yet uncomfortable in each other's company. 

Blair, once he'd got over being locked up, when Ellison remembered to let him out of the locked interview room, had been a pretty nice guy. It was disconcerting, having a partner with all that hair, if the guide could be called a partner. Not even Liv had had that much hair, and Sandburg was a guy. 

The first hour had gone pretty much like Stabler expected. Ellison manoeuvred himself between Blair and Elliot, wedging the guide into a smaller and smaller area, until, finally the man shoved him back with a well placed elbow. No words were exchanged, but with the look Blair sent Ellison's way, words were unnecessary. The big detective backed off. Elliot kept his distance, too.

The second swallow was still good, it nearly made him groan. It would be so easy to go out, get a sixer, and finish it off. He'd sleep then, and well. He took another mouthful, let the taste seep into his tongue. He'd have this one. Then he'd go in to sleep. Tomorrow, maybe he'd buy more. Tomorrow he would have another. 

But not tonight. 

tbc.....


	4. Four

Chapter 4

Blair was smiling at everyone he passed, stopping to say good morning and introduce himself to anyone he had not yet met, memorizing names and faces, flashing his friendly smile.

Jim squashed down his jealousy and gave up on trying to hurry Blair along when he looked ahead and saw Stabler wearing a suit, deciding to talk to his new partner about his choice of attire. Jim walked over to the detective and looked him up and down. “What’s with the monkey suit?” He asked in a clearly disapproving way.

“I wanted to look professional,” Elliot replied, hanging up his long coat. Casually, he let his gaze rake across the other detective’s chinos, heavy boots and sweater over a buttoned down shirt. He raised his brows, his opinion of the selection obviously not favorable. 

Jim glared. “Loose the suit coat and tie. People will think you’re a lawyer, or on your way to a funeral.” Jim shook his head, gaze drifting over the other man, and stopping at the semi-dress shoes, they did look sturdy and well polished, but also a bit too expensive to ruin in unpredictable Cascade weather. They were not ideal for hitting the ground running. “You’re going to have trouble with those shoes. We’re not always going to be on dry pavement, sometimes we’re out in the mud. We get a lot of rain here, and snow can come out of nowhere this time of year. Get yourself a pair of good boots, and a pair of pants you won’t mind ruining.” Jim’s disapproving voice made the last sentence seem more like a command than a friendly heads up. Elliot bristled. What did this guy think, that New York was the Hawaiian Islands of the East? 

“Hi.” Blair said when he finally reached the two sentinels. “What’s going on?” he asked as he slung his backpack under Jim’s desk. He looked over at Elliot while unwinding the ends of his long scarf. “Hey, I like the threads, man.” 

For a moment Elliot saw honest outrage on the other sentinel’s face. He schooled his own expression to a pleasantly neutral one. “Thank you, Blair.” Elliot let the words slide off his tongue, warm, ingratiating, curling around the name like an embrace. 

Blair looked puzzled at the tone. Then seemed to pick up on the underlying vibe. He lifted up his hands palms out, shaking his curly head.

“Uh-oh, it’s too early in the a.m. for alpha male games, guys.” He said quellingly, rolling his eyes for good measure. “What ever you guys are pissed about, leave me out of it.” He turned his back on them, still shaking his head. “I don’t want to know.”

They stood for a moment, in a tight knot, Elliot and Jim exchanging an assessing look. Then the corner of Ellison’s mouth twitched and Stabler smiled, showing plenty of very white teeth, but a smile nonetheless. Jim still kept his body mostly between his grumbling guide and Stabler, but the tension vanished. The sentinels stared into each other’s eyes; Jim decided to let the clothing issue slide and get to work. A week in Cascade and the former New Yorker would learn. His dry cleaning bill would be a very effective teacher.

***

Jim Ellison was not a man who wasted time. Elliot grudgingly admitted he liked that about the guy. When he was focused on a case, his own attention was absolute. Detective Ellison and he seemed to be cut from the same cloth in that respect and that could only be a good thing, right?

Blair on the other hand, well, he seemed to be able to concentrate on about two dozen things all at the same time and talk about them, too. The kid could make connections and put facts together in a way that any cop, even a sentinel detective, might miss. Elliot had no idea why the constant chattering wasn’t bothering him more than it was. It was distracting, but soothing, too. And if any young women happened to wander by to see the newest additions to the Major Crimes team, well, it turned out Blair could handle two dozen and one things. Elliot hid his admiring smirk behind an open case-file.

Ellison was heading back to the desk he and Stabler were sharing until Ellison’s pseudo-partner, Detective Megan O’Connor got back to Cascade and moved her things. Then she would learn she was no longer defacto-partnered with Ellison after all. Elliot wondered if she would take it as a good omen, or a bad one. Elliot’s desk would be the one that butted up against Ellison’s , but for now they were sharing as much as two big guys could share with one chair and desk between them. At the moment neither Sentinel was sitting, as there was only the one chair and one computer, Blair was seated, and typing furiously. Apparently the guy was some kind of computer wiz. 

Words flew across the screen at a speed that challenged Stabler’s ability to read them. He’d learned to type in the Marine Corps and compared to his fellow Marines, who almost to a man were two-finger typists, he’d been no slouch, but he couldn’t hold a candle to the grad student sitting in front of him now. 

Windows opened and closed on the screen, Blair humming between explanations, bouncing in the chair seeming to hop at random from subject to subject. Elliot would have wondered if he was high, but there was no suspicious odor beyond a very organic, tea-like scent, and Ellison wouldn’t tolerate any kind of drugs, not for a minute. 

Probably Blair had had too much caffeine. Unlike Elliot, who was thinking how much he’d like another cup, preferably some of the gourmet roast that was dripping in the captain’s office. Each tiny drop released a burst of new scent into the bullpen air. Elliot was going nuts trying not to think about barging into the room and begging a cup or slinking in and stealing one. The cheap convenience store coffee he’d bought and loaded into his own Mr Coffee was dregs compared to the stuff that Banks drank. 

Blair made a sound that was different from the rest of the friendly, excitable chatter he’d been making all morning. Stabler’s attention went back to the guide and to Ellison who was bent down over Blair’s shoulder his pale eyes narrowed and blazing. Blair was leaning back from the screen, the look on his face wasn’t pretty....Elliot glanced down at the monitor. 

A video, Youtube, his kids liked the site; he hoped they never saw this video. An image of a terrified, wide-eyed girl filled the screen, she couldn’t be more than fourteen, Asian, small boned, she looked far younger, Elliot’s jaw clenched; she was barely clothed in the smallest string bikini he’d ever seen. He knew at once he was seeing an advertisement, a product for sale. Youtube would take it down, fast. But the predators who had been alerted to watch for it would have already seen it, copied it, and could now review it at their leisure. The harm had already been done. The secret bidding was probably ongoing at this moment; lost in the ether that was the World-Wide-Web and impossible to trace.

“Excuse me.” Blair was up, out of the chair and walking away fast, shoulders hunched up around his ears. Elliot didn’t have to ask why, he could smell the upset, the sour tang that told him Blair was ill, nauseous and heading for the men’s room. Ellison didn’t hesitate, didn’t glance back at the monitor, he went after his guide. Stabler stayed at the screen watching the video to its completion, scanning for clues. He’d seen stuff like this plenty of times, it had been the kind of case that was his bread and butter. But it wasn’t easy to watch unless you separated the fact that it was real and happening right then to an innocent child, from the need to find a clue, any clue at all, to help rescue her. 

Blair was being sick, Stabler heard it, catalogued it, locked it down and away from his awareness. It was harder than it should have been, the pull to keep tabs on the guide was growing stronger, despite their very short association. He heard Ellison murmuring comfort, visualizing him putting a supportive hand on the bent over guide’s back. 

Stabler shook his head forcing his attention back to the video. These bastards were good. He didn’t spot anything that would help locate the child being exploited. No hands, no reflections, no voices or sounds in the background. He imagined her captors were there, directing her movements off camera as she danced her stiff little dance, but silent, their threat more than enough to keep their prey in line without verbal orders.

Blair and Ellison returned to the bullpen but didn’t come back to the desk. Blair kept his eyes averted when Stabler glanced up. Ellison was reaching for Blair’s jacket, helping the shorter man into it, putting the scarf in Blair’s hand, then grabbing his own coat. Elliot stood, copied the vid to the case file with a couple of clicks, then he scooped up Blair’s backpack, took his own long coat off the rack and followed the other two out of Major Crimes and into the elevator. Ellison was his partner, if the man was leaving, Elliot was going, too. He passed the pack to a white-faced Blair then turned to keep and eye on the open doorway.

“You gonna be okay, Chief?” Ellison asked, keeping the question pitched low, letting Blair stand partly hidden behind him as a curious secretary stepped into the elevator with them, craning her neck. Elliot looked straight ahead, saying nothing, but he used the bulk of his body to add another layer of shielding between the distressed guide and the woman. He heard a rustle of fabric, the shifting of Blair’s backpack. Blair drew in a shuddering breath. They rode down a single floor and the secretary got off. The expression on Elliot’s face convinced the man waiting to get on that the next elevator would do much better. 

“God. How can you guys do this?” Came the whispered question slightly muffled, once the doors had closed fully. Elliot risked a glance backward. Blair had his hand knotted in the fabric of Ellison’s jacket, his face resting against the sentinel’s sleeve. Jim stood stone faced, when Elliot turned their gazes met, locked and Jim’s eyes narrowed, challengingly. Elliot turned back around. Not really his business, was it?

Stabler faced front watching the metal doors, deliberately not taking advantage of the reflection provided by the polished surface to spy on the two men behind him. Even so, he was aware of the uncharacteristically quiet Blair nodding. He felt the slight movement of air against the back of his neck. The air current’s gentle movement made his hair stand on end. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly while every instinct told him to turn and watch. 

This visceral reaction was to be expected from a guide. They were, after all, empathic. That is what made them guides, they wouldn’t be much use if they didn’t feel things intensely. Blair didn’t have to imagine the terror the girl felt, on some level he felt it himself. Add to that his personal distaste and...well... 

“Want to go home? We can drop you off.” Jim offered to Blair, the dissatisfaction of that plan clear in his voice, but he still offered it. “We’ve got to go interview some people, it will be about this kind of thing. You don’t have to be there if you don’t want to be.” He was careful not to say that Blair couldn’t handle it. 

“No.” Blair said. “I can hold it together... it is just...” He swallowed hard. “Seeing that poor girl...I want to be there with you, you might need me to help you read them... the people you are going to question.” He didn’t ask how people could do that kind of thing. He didn’t ramble on about why the cops didn’t stop it from happening in the first place. That was a telling omission.

Elliot appreciated not having to face the accusations or the questions that implied the police hadn’t been doing their job or things like this wouldn’t be happening in the good old, civilized US of A. It told him that Blair wasn’t as innocent as he seemed, he’d seen trouble, he’d seen bad things, understood they happened. The information card he’d had in front of him at the Meet had said he’d been in other countries. Blair might have seen bad things there, and hoped they didn’t happen in his home country. Now he knew better. They happened even in his own backyard.

They sat in the truck, quiet for a few long minutes as Jim drove through the busy streets. Elliot didn’t want to ask but felt he had to in order to gauge the other man’s experience. Special victims crimes were different. “Have you worked many cases like this before?” Cascade did have a reputation for major crime. This case certainly qualified in a sense. Not very likely it was only one girl, one time. No, this had the slick, slimy feel of an experienced team of organized criminals making money catering to pedophiles who would pay a fortune to get a girl like the one they’d seen. 

“We get a few cases every year, human trafficking.” Jim answered with unconcealed distaste. “I guess this is the type of case you worked all the time back in New York.” Three adult men in the front seat of the truck was a tight fit, Blair wedged between the two larger men. Blair, however, only shivered and shrank into the tiny space that was his. He seemed to need the crowded protection, he wasn’t protesting. 

“Yeah,” Elliot answered. “Both Cascade and New York are port cities so human trafficking is bound to come up at some point. Easy to move in a ship full of illegals and unload them somewhere along the miles of coastline, or worse, lock them in a shipping container and wait to see if they are found out before opening it. No big loss to the traffickers if a couple die while they wait.” 

Ellison nodded. “There is a move to put sentinels along the shore line and in port security, but the budget won’t reach that far and they’d have to come from somewhere. So far it seems to make more sense to keep us working the street instead of in lighthouses.” But the frustration was in his voice for Elliot to hear. 

“Have you solved many cases like this?” Blair asked, his voice quiet, tentative. He was watching his bare hands as they opened and closed in his lap. The slim fingers were pale, trembling. Elliot tugged off one of his gloves and reached over. 

The guide’s hands were cold. Elliot wrapped his own much warmer hand around the cold flesh. Blair, far from protesting, held on to the proffered hand. Elliot reflected it was his first time holding another man’s hand. It wasn’t so bad. In the driver’s seat Ellison grumbled. Elliot stared forward, of course Ellison didn’t like him touching Blair, but the guide needed anchoring, reassurance, and with Ellison driving the truck it left Elliot to offer the comfort, and he did, refusing to look over and see the expected glare from the other sentinel.

“We solved them more often than we didn’t.” Elliot said as if he weren’t still holding hands with Blair. “My partner Liv was a pit bull with that kind of case. I guess we both were.” 

Blair shuddered. There was a kind of sadness to the detective’s voice that Blair picked up on. “There’s something that you’re not telling me.” He said looking pleadingly into Stabler’s eyes, his grip tightening.

“You just have to be careful,” Stabler said, “real careful. If the bastards find out you’re on to them there’s no telling what they’ll do. It hurts too much when you get there too late to help. I’ve got daughters, three of them, one is that girl’s age. I don’t want to find this kid dead because we weren’t careful enough.”

“Oh god.” Blair swallowed hard. His voice and body shook. This time Ellison took one hand off the wheel and put his arm around his guide and held him as they drove. There didn’t seem to be much else to say.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Toby Granger, formerly known as Tobias Beecher, past prisoner in the Oswald Correctional Facility, former star witness against the White Supremacist Nazi gang that had taken over a big chunk of the criminal enterprise in New York State, and current enrollee in witness protection wasn’t sure he liked Cascade, Washington. Or any west coast city. He was used to the east coast. How things were done there. Out here he was alone except for the guards who not only checked on him, which he’d expected, but actually moved in with him or perhaps they had moved him in with them. Who had been there first didn’t really matter.

He’d been a lawyer. He knew how witness protection went. People disappeared. Vanished. His family was gone, out of reach. He couldn’t afford to think of them, let alone have anything else to do with them. Thinking differently would get him killed, get them killed. The only thing Toby knew was that they too had been enrolled in the WP program. His kids, his mother, his brother. Gone. But not dead like his father, or his oldest son. That was a gift he held on to.

It had hurt, leaving them behind. They had struggled to accept him once he was released from Oz. Ten years of his life lost to that sewer. Still, he probably would have been dead if he had not been convicted. If he’d not hit and killed that child while driving drunk and ended up in Oz instead of some cushy upstate prison for prisoners with money. His life had somehow been spared at the cost of too many others.

His family had money. Always had. He had money. Even now. But he had nothing else. Not even his health nor his privacy or his own name. The Marshalls had moved him lightning fast when somehow by chance or a more sinister means he was found out in Vermont... Vermont for God’s sake, not exactly a hotbed of Nazi activity, but they’d found him. And he’d had to flee. Three months of isolation in Texas. Another two in North Dakota. Now he was here in Washington state, and tired of running.

He was sick. Dizzy, aching all the time and skinnier than ever. Depressed, it was hardly worth breathing anymore. After drawing enough blood to run a blood bank, his new doctor hadn’t a fucking clue what was wrong. So they’d contacted some expert from the University, Rainier he thought it was called. This expert had somehow been talked into making a house call. She was coming today, Toby turned his head listlessly. Only minutes before four pm. Only minutes before she’d be here. He couldn’t give a shit. He’d feel better if he died. He was sick to death of being alive.

 

tbc...


	5. Five

Chapter 5

Blair saw the wall when he opened his eyes. A flat pale gray in the unlit loft. Illumination from the street outside was dim, and it was unusually quiet. It felt like 2 a. m.

Sleep was proving to be elusive, an image of the scared young girl dancing through his tired brain every time he relaxed to the edge of sleep. Meditation, when he’d attempted that earlier in the evening had also been unhelpful. Instead of steadying his thoughts, he’d found himself focused on how she had to be feeling, her fear, her pain. Shivering, he pulled the covers up higher around his neck. The image would fade, he knew from experience, but it would take time. Until then he had to cope, to try to sleep. 

In past situations like this, when he needed to relax and attain some level of forgetfulness, a toke on a fat joint worked best, aromatic smoke curling up past his head, medicating his frantic dreams, lulling him to sleep. That so wasn’t an option now. Living with a straight-laced sentinel, a law and order cop took certain options off the table. Neither role, sentinel or cop, meant Jim was all that flexible when it came to drug use. Jim wasn’t likely to listen to speeches on folk medicine and not think “drug abuse” rather than “home remedy”.

So, pot wasn’t an option. Blair took in another slow deep breath. He visualized his arms and legs turning to putty, limp. He thought about a peaceful, safe refuge, in a forest, on an isolated hill. He tried, he really did. The wall stayed, unchanged, four feet in front of him. His gaze fixed, popping open when he determinedly closed them. 

It wasn’t working. He was more tense, not less, and further from sleep than ever.

He forced his mind away from the girl only to have it go to the disturbing “interviews” the sentinels had conducted after leaving the station that morning.

Ellison and Stabler with Blair in tow, had gone to the residences of local registered sex offenders, the pedophiles to be more exact, the ones who liked young girls. The police department kept a list, updated weekly with all the men whose sex drives were focused on children. The cops didn’t need a warrant to search the residences of these men who were on probation. 

The men universally proved to be not very smart. They tried to hide their stash of kiddie porn on their computers, under neutral names and files, but Blair knew his way around computers. Finding the material was easy. Getting past having to look at it wasn’t. He settled for not letting his eyes focus and stepped out of the way to let one or both of the sentinels really look at the uncovered evidence. He felt it was a cop out, not having the stomach or courage to look, but he just couldn’t manage. 

Blair wasn’t an innocent by any means. Naomi had been an affectionate but distracted mother. It had fallen to Blair himself to be aware of those times when one or another of his mother’s lovers had begun showing an undue amount of interest in him. Pedophiles were not immediately or easily identified, they did not come with signs or labels, rather they tended to be very well camouflaged. Nor were they only able to function with children. More than one man Naomi partnered with would have rather have had Blair than his mother, but seemed to keep her satisfied nonetheless. To her credit, those men didn’t last long when Blair clued his mom into what was going on. But, she had never been the one to notice it first. It fell to Blair to stay on his guard. 

By the end of the miserable day, a half dozen interviews behind them and three men on the way to the station in well earned handcuffs, parole officers notified that they had fallen back into their old ways, and Blair felt absolutely sick at heart. First Jim, then Elliot had tried to get him to go home, or at least to stay in the truck with windows up and doors locked, his distress pretty obvious to the two sentinels. Blair refused. Men like this were not going to be allowed to win, to stay free, just because he was squeamish, not when children’s lives were at stake. He stayed. He worked. He tried very hard not to remember what he saw and heard.

They had worked the whole day like that, a crack team, Jim and Elliot following long shots and gut feelings, instincts honed to go for the kill, cut out the bad apple from the rest. Blair zeroing in on the computer evidence to put them away once the interrogations of the shaking, sweating, pitifully defiant men made it clear there was more to find. While they didn’t find any of the evidence they needed to connect any of the men to the girl in the video, they did find enough to arrest some of the men they visited during the sex-offender canvas.

It wasn’t the kind of detective work sentinels were best at. They needed a crime scene, one where they could pick up trace evidence, a scent, a bit of lint or a stray hair, and follow it to a solution. Blair could feel both sentinels’ frustration building as the hours ticked by, and tomorrow promised to be more of the same. The lack of progress on their primary case wore on both men. Blair knew in his soul that neither sentinel would let this case go until they rescued the girl or found the men who had enslaved her. 

Arresting the three men who had gotten caught breaking probation was something positive. But it also made Blair aware that there was a very big iceberg out there that no one really talked about, preferring to ignore the horror. How many people preyed on kids and remained under the radar? Far more than were ever caught.

If it weren’t the middle of the night he’d go for a walk. Or a run. Work off some of the stress hormones that were keeping him too wound up to drift off. But it was night, and it was dark. 

Sex worked when he needed to calm down but he wasn’t so sure it would work this time, not when the image of the young girl kept popping into his head. Besides he had no current girlfriend, and he doubted Ellison would be a great fan of the idea of Blair getting up right now and going out to find a little companionship. Blair’s distress had thrown the sentinel into a protective mode. A fairly mild one, but still, it would go against every instinct the man had to let Blair leave the loft on his own. Blair wasn’t desperate enough to be able to have sex with his new sentinel watching. It would certainly make relaxation the last thing on his mind. 

Not that Blair thought Jim was unattractive. The man was in phenomenal shape and was classically handsome. It was just...He was a guy, and the ties between sentinel and guide meant that anything like sex would be incredibly intimate. They were already bonded, tied together emotionally, interdependent. Sex wouldn’t just be a feel good experience. It would be a hell of a lot more. 

Blair was curious, and the memory of the day's events stopped playing in his head as he turned his thoughts to Jim. What would sex be like with a sentinel? A partner who could sense your responses, who read even the faintest of clues? Who would know what really did it for you simply from reading your body’s reaction? What would that be like? Sex with no secrets?

Blair shivered. God. It would be unbelievable. Or a complete disaster. No secrets wasn’t always a good thing. And there was such a thing as too much intimacy. No privacy. 

Blair shifted. None of this thinking was helping him to relax; a different kind of tension had taken over his body. He let out the air he’d just inhaled. He kept the exhale long and slow, controlled. It was quiet. So quiet. Fuck. This wasn’t working. At all.

Heat moved up behind him, a hand, big and careful rolled Blair onto his back. Resigned to being questioned, having to think even more exactly about the visions that were burned into his memory and the feelings of that terrified girl, Blair sighed.

Jim, however, didn’t speak. The hand that had touched Blair and put him onto his back slid warmly up his shoulder and onto his neck, cupping itself around the tension, and squeezed. Blair couldn’t help it, he groaned. Gifted, sensitive fingers found the areas where he was tightest, kneaded stubborn muscles with strong fingers until the ache faded into pleasure, then relaxation. 

What was it about sentinels that let them turn touch into something that was both personal and impersonal? Blair didn’t feel invaded or exposed. He lay under the long, sweeping, gentle caresses that ran from the base of his skull, smoothly to his knees. No part of his body was treated any differently than another. With the skill of a parent calming a loved child, Jim was melting Blair’s stress away. And if his hand grazed Blair’s genitals from time to time, it wasn’t uncomfortable, or sexual. It was....perfect.

Blair felt his body give in, relaxing at last. And if he got a little hard on the third or fourth pass of Jim’s big hand, well Jim was a sentinel and Blair was his guide and it was no big deal. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

When he thought about it objectively, Elliot didn’t think he’d been a bad father, or bad husband for that matter. But he had been an absent one, which as nearly as great a sin. Considering that his family had been and was still the thing he’d loved most in this life, it made no sense that he’d abandoned them for his job. The Job. 

Cops had one of the highest divorce rates of any profession. Second only to sentinels, Elliot was sure. How many cops did he know who weren’t divorced, or on their second or third marriage? Resigned, he shook his head. He could count them on one hand with a finger or two left over. The message was clear, cops shouldn’t get married. They weren’t suited for it.

What about children? He didn’t regret having his. They were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But what had he given them? A little money, a roof over their heads. He loved them, repressed Catholic son of an alcoholic father or not, he’d told them he loved them, hugged them, held them. He never left them in doubt of how he felt about them. He’d even broken the law to protect them. And now he wasn’t allowed to see them. Not until he was safely bonded to a guide. 

Not seeing them, not talking to them hurt. He turned over, stared up at the popcorn finish of the apartment ceiling. The yellowish stain was the same as the day he rented this place. At least there wasn’t an active leak to deal with along with everything else. 

And just where was he supposed to find a guide? The meets had plenty of guides open to sentinels with desk jobs. Safe jobs. Not too many women wanted to be cops, or guide cops when that meant being in the field. Elliot had seen it before, the bond started off great, then, eventually, within a year usually there would be the subtle pressure to take a promotion, to take the exam. That wasn’t for him. Not yet, anyway. He still needed the adrenaline rush of the chase, the physical activity, the power of pitting himself against the criminals and coming out on top. He wasn’t an old man yet.

He could admit to himself, alone, here in the dark, that he missed being touched, hungered for it. Closed off from the possibilities, the ability to go home and step into Kathy’s arms, it drained him, left him hollow with need. He hadn’t known how much he needed to be touched until it was gone. She was gone. 

Now he was truly alone. He had no one here to turn to. Only his job. His new partner who was a pain in the ass but a good cop, and maybe, someday he’d be a friend. But Ellison had a guide and Elliot understood that a guide came first. Hell, he wasn’t bonded and he understood it viscerally. Blair was the pivot point in Ellison’s life, and Elliot envied Jim that. Because Elliot had no idea, no frigging clue where he was going to find a guide that would be able and willing to cope with him. His ex-wife could attest that putting up with Elliot wasn’t a walk in any ones park.

@@@@@@@@@

Dr. Winifred Perry pulled the Marshals into the living-room, unwilling to shut the door, given the precarious health of the man in the other room. She was amazed he’d lasted this long. It was one of the worst cases of LBS she’d seen. “How long has he been like that?” she asked them. “What happened to his sentinel?”

“He’s been slowly getting worse over the last month,” one of the Marshals told her. “We’ve taken him to several doctors but none of them could find anything to treat. Do you know what it is?” Then he last question sunk in. He shook his head. “Sentinel? You mean he’s a guide?” 

The doctor sighed and shook her head. No one noticed anything, which wasn’t uncommon, until it was too late. If the guide hadn’t been in custody, and watched so closely, it was likely this would have ended like so many cases before, the guide was found, deceased, alone at home, no signs of trauma. “Unfortunately I do.” She said with a resigned tone to her voice. “The man is a guide, and I would bet money that he had a loss recently.”

The Marshals nodded in unison. “ His father and his oldest son were murdered. His wife killed herself, and his surviving family is also in witness protection.” Senior Agent Cunningham spoke first. He had worked with sentinels before, many times, and mostly their guides were kept out of harm’s way, and out of the way of agents as well. He recalled the obvious step that placed a sentinel between himself and a guide. The way the guide was usually behind the table, seated and to get to her, or very rarely him, you would have had to literally go through the sentinel first. 

“Well that’s more grief than any man should have to bear.” the doctor said, slowly. “No wonder it triggered the LBS.”

“What the hell is LBS?” the Marshalls asked in one voice.

“Lost Bond Syndrome,” the doctor answers. “It’s an auto-immune disorder that develops, usually after a bonded guide loses his or her sentinel. Loss of a bond is catastrophic for a guide. A sentinel will often lose control, but he will usually eventually cope, but a guide has deeper emotional attachments to a sentinel, so deep that it has physiological consequences if the dependence is severed. He will continue to get sicker, his vital organs will shut down and he will die.”

“He never was bonded. Heck, we didn’t even know he was a guide!” Marcus Braithwaite protested running a hand through his disordered hair. “It isn’t in his profile. And it doesn’t seem like something that would be left out.”

Dr. Perry shook her head. “I am certain he was bonded before. The signs are unmistakable. I have only rarely heard of a female sentinel, so his wife could not have been his sentinel. There are only about a hundred or so female sentinels in the US, I hope to god it wasn’t his father or his son. That would bring up...difficulties in bond I don’t want to think about. Were there any other close associations that have been recently broken?”

The Marshals exchanged a meaningful look.

“He was in Oswald Correctional Facility for ten years.” Braithwaite told the doctor. “The guards said he and another prisoner were...close.” The way he said it made it clear it was more than a friendship that was being hinted at. Dr Perry waited. “The other prisoner killed himself.”

“There is only one chance you have of saving Mr. Granger’s life at this point, given how much his condition has deteriorated. He must be bonded.” Dr. Perry said, breaking the short silence after the Marshall’s explanation. “Find him a compatible sentinel, and fast. If he accepts the bond he will live, if not there is nothing I can do but make him comfortable.”

“Being in WP is going to make that difficult. Damn.” Cunningham flipped open his cell and dialled. “Someone in law enforcement is about the only pool we have to draw from . Anyone else would be suicide. It would only take a few weeks for the Nazis to find out and come after both of them. A LEO has a chance and resources that a civilian just won’t have. And a level of paranoia that is warranted in this case. The Nazis really hate our guy, doc.”

“Well, whatever pool you decide to look into for a sentinel, it must be soon. He has about a week, maximum, before he is past the point of no return. He will bond, or he will die.” She opened her purse and took out a prescription pad scribbling furiously. “This will help a little. Give him two in the morning, one at night. He shouldn’t be left alone. It would be best if one of you held his hand or remained in physical contact with him at all times. He needs touch to ground him.”

The two Marshalls gave each other an uncomfortable look. Either of them would face down bullets to protect a civilian or colleague. But this was the first time they’d been advised to hold a man’s hand in order to save his life. Still, they would do what they had to.

“Ideally only the sentinel destined to become this man’s bond mate should enter his room,” the doctor continued, “absolutely no other sentinels or guides are to get near him. I am afraid it would prove fatal if he is able to establish a superficial bond, only to discover the sentinel has a deeper, more concrete bond with someone else. I would hesitate to allow an intimate partner of the chosen sentinel near as well.” She tore off the top sheet of the prescription pad and handed it to Braithwaite who looked at it curiously.

“Vitamins? Ensure? That’s it?” He shook his head, it didn’t seem like enough. He’d expected some exotic, expensive drug with an unpronounceable name. Not cheap vitamins and a nutritional supplement.

“It is all we can do. Keep him hydrated, on nutritional support. Find a sentinel for him to bond with; until then have someone stay with him, feed him, and most importantly touch him. There should be skin to skin contact as much as possible. It may buy you an extra day or two to find his sentinel.” She didn’t look hopeful.

Braithwaite and Cunningham nodded, exchanging grim looks. Toby had been quiet, but a nice enough guy. And he’d stood up and testified against the white supremacists, putting the top figures in prison for life. The Marshals didn’t wish this sort of death on him, not after what he’d had the courage to do, he didn’t deserve going out this way.

tbc...


	6. Six

Chapter 6

 

Blair felt Detective Stabler’s stress roll over him in a tidal wave as soon as the elevator doors opened. He popped his head up from the computer screen and looked at the man he was beginning to think of as his second sentinel. The man walked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Blair knew at least part of the problem was his fault. But Elliot was a sentinel, and Blair wanted to, was compelled to reach out when he knew a sentinel was hurting. Yet, somehow, his help was making things worse. His deep blue eyes were filled with concern as he watched Elliot enter the bullpen and head towards the coat rack. 

Stabler was tired. Sleep wasn’t coming easily for him, not lately. There was too much on his mind. He missed his kids like crazy and contrary to what he’d been told, he wasn’t finding it easier to adapt the longer he was away from them, rather, each day was harder, more painful, the ache of loneliness cutting deeper. He missed his ex-wife; he missed her company in and out bed; he missed the intimacy of being able to reach out, share a touch with someone, but mostly he missed the feeling that he was not alone in the world.

Work was the one place he wasn’t alone and he was grateful for that small favor. Ellison was more than competent, a dream partner, on the ball, and he always had your back. Stabler wondered at his luck finding another partner as good as if not better than Liv. Ellison was observant, quick, and smart, and like Elliot he was a man of action, If anything he and Ellison fit even better than Elliot and Liv had at their best. Once again Stabler thought to himself that he actually liked the man. Ellison wasn’t a problem. 

Blair. The guide was the problem. Oh, the kid was nice, and smart, too. His mind was lightning quick. He smiled a lot, people opened up to him, liked him. Witnesses who wouldn’t tell Ellison or Stabler a thing, wouldn’t have pissed on them if they’d been on fire, would tell Blair anything he wanted to know. A real charmer, he was. Kind, compassionate. And god, no matter how hard he fought not to, Elliot wanted him. 

He knew it was wrong. Just like it wasn’t okay to covet your neighbor’s wife, you did not covet your partner’s guide. It wasn’t done. Blair belonged with Ellison. Elliot couldn’t have him. Couldn’t take him. End of story; except it wasn’t. He shouldn’t want to touch him, but he did; he shouldn’t listen to the regular, soothing beat of his heart so obsessively; but he did. It was all wrong and he knew it. As hard as he tried he couldn't stop and it was all spiraling out of control. 

He lay awake nights, unable to close his eyes without thinking about Blair in his room, in his bed, right next to him. It was about being there, close, able to reach out, touch warm skin, inhale the perfect scent of the man. It was about the way Blair smiled, how he knew the right thing to say. It was because Elliot only felt human, in control, when he was near. 

The dreams were the last straw. Elaborate fantasies of kidnapping Blair, claiming him, of Blair belonging to Elliot not Jim, of winning the right to own the guide. Plots that made no sense except in the dream world. Bloody, raging contests, fights to the death, that always ended with Blair as his. Elliot was slowly going insane. Apart from the dreams Elliot found he was seriously thinking of working something out with Ellison, asking if he could...share Blair. 

He knew it wasn’t right. He was familiar with men who had these kinds of thoughts, fantasies of possessing others, he’d arrested more than a few. Guides, men, women and children weren’t property. They had rights, free will. 

“Hey.” Blair’s greeting broke into Stabler’s dark thoughts. The voice of calm, of reason, of caring. Elliot soaked it in, desperate. He looked up, met Blair’s eyes. Blair’s welcoming smile faded, and his waving hand lowered back to the keyboard. There were dark circles under Elliot’s eyes. Stabler looked haggard. “You OK? You don’t look so good.” He spoke low voiced, even so Ellison turned from where he stood at the files, gaze sharp, zeroing in on Stabler. 

And Ellison came striding across the room, coming fast, Elliot didn’t know what Ellison saw in his expression, but it galvanized him into motion. Elliot wasn’t happy with himself. He knew he was able to maintain better than this, he had to. Elliot hung up his coat and muffler, using the time to get control back. He took a steadying breath. It was going to be a long fucking day. 

Simon’s bellow from behind him was just the icing on the cake. Instantly his shoulders were up around his ears, defensive, his ears ringing, his hearing shorting out, warbling.

“Stabler, my office, now,” Banks snapped, Elliot flinched. Even Ellison winced, so focused on Elliot he failed to monitor Simon’s movement or predict or prepare for the common roar.

“You can do this,” Elliot told himself internally. Outwardly calm, Elliot headed toward Simon. He purposely ignored Blair and Jim as he walked by on his way to Bank’s office; Elliot kept going, one step after the other, though the effort seemed barely worth it. What he really wanted to do was turn and take the guide in his arms duck his pounding head down against Blair’s chest and listen to the beat of the guide’s heart, feel the cherished flutter against his cheek. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms hard enough to bite into the skin. Elliot kept walking. 

Blair felt the tension radiating from Elliot, he frowned, trying to pinpoint what was causing it, he got to his feet, fully intending to reach out as the sentinel passed him. His attempt to go after Elliot was cut short by the way Jim’s hand landed on his shoulder, fingers digging in. Blair glanced up at his primary sentinel. Jim was looking at Elliot, his body going still, expression blanking to an intentness that raised the hair along the back of Blair’s neck. Stabler had slowed down, stopped only a few steps away from them, hesitating, as if he couldn’t stop himself his head turned, his deep set eyes meeting Blair’s. Blair thought he was going to say something to him. But Elliot only shuddered, then shook his head, looking over at Simon Banks. 

“Yeah, Captain.” He acknowledged in a perfectly normal tone. “What’s up?” 

Simon was not alone. Two men, big, athletic, one as Nordic blond as Elliot’s ex-wife, one dark haired, both wearing suits, ties, and cop’s shoes, waited behind the Major Crimes Captain in his glass walled office. Elliot wondered what they wanted. He kept on heading toward them. Simon crossed his arms over his chest.

Stabler let out a sigh as the light from Simon’s windows sliced into his retinas and raised a hand to his eyes, rubbing at the stabbing ache behind them; he shook his head and started to move toward the tall, dark skinned man standing in the doorway.

Blair hissed at Jim, who was just standing there, watching Elliot walk up to Simon and the strangers. “Help him.” He elbowed his sentinel. “Those are feds, something is up.” Blair felt strong distrust of any of the three letter agencies. CIA, NSA, FBI. They never were up to anything good and they certainly weren’t trustworthy. No way he was going to let them get their hands on Stabler. 

“What?” Jim hissed back, grunting as Blair’s elbow impacted his ribs. It didn’t hurt, but it got his attention. “It’s probably a case from NY.” 

Blair shared an incredulous look with the taller man. “No. We have to help him. Or I’ll help him if you won’t.” Blair put his head down and started to walk after Stabler. Jim just threw his hands up and followed his guide. He had to admit he was curious. But he could have eavesdropped from afar, not letting them know he was listening. Blair, though, was all about showing support, a united front, and now Jim was right behind him, unwilling to let his guide go into a potential lion’s den alone. Besides, at the very least, Elliott was his partner and he was not going to let his partner face trouble alone either, anything involving the feds was potentially big. Stabler was obviously hurting, not at his best. He did need some support; he also needed to find a guide and stay away from Blair. The decision was made in an instant; he moved fast to catch up with his partner; Blair was two steps behind him when they reached the Captain’s office.

Stabler didn’t show his surprise at Ellison’s presence at his side. Moments ago Jim was ready to defend his guide, now Jim had his back; Elliott let his shoulders relax a fraction. It said something about the man. Ellison was a partner he could rely on as long as he didn’t do something stupid like letting Blair come between them.

One of the Marshals blocked the door with his body, smart enough not to lift a hand and put it on Jim to stop him. “Sorry, only Sentinel Stabler, this is a classified briefing and we’ve got clearance only for him.” The guy was big, wide-shouldered, not a sentinel, but some kind of athlete, Jim was sure, active, working out regularly. A tough, solid guy. Only an inch or two shorter than Jim or Elliot. Jim met the dark eyes letting his senses reach out. He didn’t get the wrong vibe from the guy, no, but there was.... something. Anxiety? Worry?

“Jim,” Simon said, “meet Special Agents Cunningham and Braithwaite. US Marshals’ office. Gentlemen, this is Detective Jim Ellison, his guide Dr. Blair Sandburg, and you already know his partner, Detective Elliot Stabler. Come in, no need to all stand in the door. Let’s get the door shut and talk.” There were a number of curious looks being thrown their way, after all everyone working here was a detective, and detectives were nothing if not inquisitive. Simon moved back towards his desk, leaving the knot of men eyeballing each other. 

Blair fought not to roll his eyes as he watched four alpha males begin the posturing dance of just who was ‘the’ dominant here. Stabler and Ellison were now shoulder to shoulder, a joint wall of resistance. The Marshals were just as immobile. All four had their arms crossed over their chests. There was enough testosterone in the air to walk on.

They stood and stared each other down. Agent Cunningham blocked the doorway, as did his partner Agent Braithwaite. Ellison didn’t back up or step aside, Stabler backed his play, just to see what would happen. He’d never liked the feds. 

Jim was going to get into Banks’ office; he was going to find out what was up. No one was going to stop him. “He’s my partner,” Jim said, mildly, setting his feet, firmly facing down the shorter man in front of him, letting just the smallest hint of his black ops persona bleed into his eyes. “If he’s got a problem I’ve got a problem, too.” He did not give ground. The sound of Elliot’s soft breathing, the certainty that his partner was not ready yet to face an interrogation alone strengthened Jim’s resolve. He leaned forward just a bit.

Cunningham blinked, but he was made of sterner stuff than Jim had given him credit for and he un-folded his arms ready to take action if it was needed, he still blocked the way. Jim heard his teeth grind. Then he inhaled and spoke with exaggerated patience. “Your partner’s not in any trouble, Sentinel. I can’t say anything else other than a man’s life depends of us talking to him with out wasting more time.” His direct gaze told Jim he was sincere, but that didn’t change his mind, or the feeling that this was business he should be in on. 

 

“Homeland Security cleared me for classified information up to level Red,” Jim said, his gaze unwavering, pretty sure that the man in front of him had a lower clearance. His spidey sense told him this was important, and given the use of Stabler’s title as a sentinel, Ellison wasn’t backing off. Just as he expected Agent Braithwaite blinked at that bit of news, his crossed arms loosening in reaction. The blond guy shrugged, the dark one's eyes returned to Jim assessingly. The second man came closer followed by a frowning Simon Banks. 

“This has nothing to do with Homeland Security,” the Marshal said, he was unwilling to risk Toby’s life and his own job by over sharing protected information, however he was also extremely reluctant to have any part in triggering BPS in a strange sentinel. Even if the guy didn’t know Toby...Sentinels were unpredictable when it came to a sick guide.

Simon was back looming over the Marshals. “Get in here now. You can explain behind a closed door.” He said. He stepped back and glared at them all as they finally obeyed and entered the office. He closed the door behind them. “Go ahead Marshal.” He nodded at them. “Believe me, he has higher clearance for this than I do.”

“You need to tell me exactly what this is all about.” Jim said once they were gathered around Simon’s desk. “If it isn’t Sentinel business, or police business that effects how Stabler and I work together, I’ll step away, but, I’m not going anywhere until I know why you want to talk to my Sentinel. Talk to me, or we are going to stand right here until someone tells me what is going on.” 

Jim’s identification of Elliot Stabler as “his” sentinel made an impression on both of the feds. They turned as one and looked at Captain Banks. Who nodded and mouthed the words, “Sentinel Prime”. The tension seemed to ease a bit at that information.

“I’m Sentinel Prime for this sector,” Jim said just in case they didn’t get it, “any sentinel/guide business is my business. Read me in.” His tone made it clear it was an order not an invitation. 

”It’s complicated,” the Marshal said. “We didn’t even know this guy was a guide when we took him into WP. Long story short he started to have problems; we called Dr. Perry of Rainier University because she has security clearance with the Department of Witness Protection. It was just dumb luck that she is an expert on guides. She’s the one who told us Toby is a guide and he has LBS. We’ve had a couple of doctors look at him before we came to Cascade; they had no idea what was wrong. Dr. Perry knew right away that Mr. Granger is dying and the only cure is for him to bond with a sentinel. The problem is that the Nazis hate our guy enough to put out a national hit on him. They are engaged in an active campaign to find him. Rewards are posted for information. We moved him to Cascade because they found him in the last place we had him. They’ve killed innocent people trying to get at him. We can’t pull just any sentinel off the registry and try for a match. Sentinel Stabler is a cop, and he has military experience, he has the training and finding out he has the Northwest Territory Sentinel Prime as partner, that’s frosting on the cake. You can protect him, keep his identity secret. Hell, I know first hand that sentinels don’t talk to outsiders. If we didn’t know he’s a guide there’s a good chance the Nazis don’t know.” Marshal Braithwaite shrugged, “Well, that’s the story in a nut shell.”

Jim’s low growl put a stop to all conversation. Nazis threatening a guide’s life? Even those idiots should know better. Sentinels protected guides, even from themselves. Even from trouble they deserved. If that was what this turned out to be. He should have been notified before now as soon as anyone suspected the guy might be a guide. 

Blair put a hand on his sentinel’s arm. “Focus,” he said gently and then turned to the Marshals. “The guide lost a sentinel, but you guys didn’t even know he was a guide? How did that happen?”

The Marshals exchanged a look. “He was a prisoner at the Oswald Correctional Institution. He..” The man paused. “He and another prisoner got real tight. No one had any idea that it was anything but a jailhouse romance, but who else could have been his sentinel? It would explain why it got so heated. Rumor had it that the man killed anyone who put their hands on Toby. More than once, at least three times.” 

“I hope he wasn’t incarcerated based on the defense of his guide.” Blair said quietly. That would have been inexcusable.

“Hell no.” The taller of the two Marshalls said, his face flushed with anger. “He was convicted of murder years before Toby got to prison. They met when Keller was transferred to Oz. On the outside Keller would let gay men pick him up, have sex with them and then kill them in really fucked up ways I don’t want to talk about. He finally got caught, crashed his bike, acted suspicious, had too much blood on him to be his own, and was convicted of murder. No one understood why he didn’t off Toby when he had the chance. He broke both his arms and both his legs. But he didn’t kill him.”

Blair was shocked. He couldn't imagine a sentinel harming a guide to that extent. Breaking his arms and his legs? Jim would never hurt him like that. Neither would any sentinel prime allow it to happen in his area. Any sentinel mistreating his guide would be swiftly dealt with by his brother sentinels. But Toby had been in prison when the abuse occurred and there was no sentinel prime in Oz.

“Sounds like this guy’s been pretty beaten up.” Stabler said, joining in the conversation for the first time. “It’s not like a guide to be violent; what was he doing in a maximum security prison like Oz?”

“He was driving drunk when he killed a child,” the blond Marshall said. “It was an election year and the politicians wanted to make a example of him. They leaned on the Judge and he got a sentence that was pretty clearly a lot more than another man convicted of DUI and accidental death could expect. He paid as much as anyone can for his action. More than most. He was repeatedly raped and branded with a swastika on his buttocks. It has since been removed by a plastic surgeon.”

“He’s a nice guy.” The dark haired one said, and the surprise he felt at that was clear to everybody in the room. “I didn’t expect to like him, not after I read his history. But he’s okay. I hope he gets what he needs, he doesn’t deserve to die like this.”

“So how about it Sentinel Stabler, do you want to take a crack at saving this guide’s life or not?” Special Agent Cunningham asked. 

“Before he answers that I want to talk to Sentinel Stabler alone,” Jim said, in a tone that let both Marshals know that it was not up for negotiation. “I understand that you think this is a security issue, but more than that it’s a sentinel issue. All the Witness Protection protocol takes second place when it deals with a guide.” He met both gazes, then when neither man objected he took Elliot by the arm. Blair followed them to a corner of the glass walled office. 

“Why don’t we get a cup of coffee, gentlemen,” Banks said, as he ushered the two Marshals from his office.

Jim dropped his voice until it was sub-vocal to any but another sentinel. Blair moved closer, put a hand on each man. His touch serving to ground both, enhancing the control over their senses. 

“Blair’s not up for grabs.” Jim said bluntly. “He’s my guide, fully registered and claimed. I know it’s not deliberate, but we both know you’re fixing on him. Close proximity to a guide you can’t have isn’t going to turn out well, you need to bond to someone else as soon as possible.”

“I have my reservations,” Elliott said, “this guy has to be pretty messed up. He’s had no formal training, hell, the only reason they contacted me is so I can save his life and try to protect him. I work as a detective. I need a guide that can do this job with me, not some needy, clinging...”

“You need to give him a chance.” Jim said before Elliott could say anything more. “Just go see the guy and get a feel for him. If you don’t want to claim him I’ll find him another sentinel. I have friends that owe me. I can get half a dozen prospects here from Canada in two or three hours; but you need to take a look at Toby. We don’t know how long it will take to find someone else for you.”

“You’re right,” Stabler said, “I’ll go but I’m not making any promises.”

“Fine, that’s all I can ask.” Jim pulled out his cell, punching in Simon Banks’ number. “We are ready to go. We’ll meet you downstairs.”

Elliot nodded; he knew Jim was right. “You are the Northwest Sentinel Prime?” he asked when Jim hung up the phone, “and you didn’t tell me?”

Ellison looked uncomfortable. “Believe me, I don’t want the job.” 

Elliot still looked pissed.

“Guy’s this isn’t the time,” Blair interrupted, “There’s a guide in trouble. We need to go now.”

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

 

Blair stayed in the outer room, Jim refusing to let him further into the suite. The two sentinels went in. The scent of illness was heavy in the air. A nurse in colorful blue scrubs was in the doorway leading to the bedroom. Ellison could see another woman bending over the bed, a stethoscope in her ears. 

Stabler was very still at Jim’s right, drawing in quick sniffs of air. He coughed once, rubbed his hand across his face, then headed right for the bed. Jim was behind him, and the Marshals began to follow until Jim’s hand came up. He shook his head. 

“Wait here.” He said. And he went after Elliot. 

Dr. Perry was bent over the bedside taking her patient’s vital signs; she straightened when she heard the sentinel enter the room. Her face was grim. Stabler watched her, eyes gleaming. Immediately, she took a step back putting herself out of range of the man on the bed. Jim carefully put himself between her and the other sentinel, then nodded at the door. She didn’t waste any time moving out of the room, taking the nurse with her. Both women silently headed towards Blair. When the nurse would have stepped into the path between Blair and Jim, the doctor gently took her arm. 

Blair met Dr. Perry’s gaze. She didn’t smile. “His condition is critical,” she whispered, “If this sentinel isn’t a match..” She shook her head. “There’s no time to find anyone else.”.

tbc...


	7. Seven

Chapter 7

Peripherally, Elliott was aware of the light streaming from the overhead fixture far too brightly, and the blue carpeting covering the floor; (recently shampooed with a lingering flowery scent that made his nose itch just a little) and the noise of the suite’s refrigerator cycling on and off, but everything faded away for Elliot except the bed and the guide laying in it when he focused on the one important item in the room. The guide. 

He stumbled at the unexpected intensity of input that bombarded his senses, almost losing his footing. Ellison was there less than a step away, silent, strong, catching his arm and keeping him on his feet. Elliot stood for a moment swaying, regaining his equilibrium, and then pulled away from the other sentinel as he continued toward the occupied bed. 

The smell of illness could not mask the beckoning fragrance emanating from the too slender guide huddled beneath the layered covers. The rough sound of labored breathing made Elliot hurry forward, urgency building in him. He rubbed his chest, felt his own heart start to pound with an odd desperation. Sweat broke out on his upper lip and he touched his fingers to the beading dampness. Not knowing why he reached out, moving right up to the edge of the bed, bending down, he gently drew his wet fingertips over the guide’s upper lip, exactly where he’d touched himself. As he did, he felt Ellison step in behind him, arms widespread, shielding him from the curiosity of the Marshals who had noticed the action.

The draw that pulled him, sentinel to guide, was too strong to resist, doubt or not he was drawn. Kneeling at the edge of the twin sized bed, Elliot slowly reached out a second time, bending down he lay his fingers on the sick man’s arm. The skin he touched was unwelcomingly cool and faintly blue tinged. He felt the sluggish sigh of blood moving too slowly. The hiss of the oxygen through the nasal cannula under the ill man’s nose was only white noise in the background. Elliot’s fingers flexed, he leaned down, until he could place the palm of his hand flat against the guide’s chest, sliding the other hand underneath so that between his hands he bracketed the failing heart of the guide; its faint beat against his palms told the sentinel it was too weak to sustain life for much longer. 

Elliot lifted his head, turned to the other sentinel, let his fear and panic show. Ellison met his gaze, one second, two, then he moved right up behind Elliot, put his own hands on Elliot’s forearms, long lean fingers, leaning in he whispered, “don’t let him go without a fight.” His fingers squeezed hard encouragement just above Elliot’s wrists, emphasizing the words and lending his strength. Elliot looked down, saw the gold lashed eyes, closed, the pale pink lips, tinging lavender, cracked and dry, barely parted, faint breath passing in and out. The guide was ghostly, weak, almost gone. 

Ellison moved again, his body forming more tightly to Elliot’s; dropping to one knee and positioning himself up against Elliot’s back, somehow not disturbing his concentration, instead serving to insulate Stabler from the discordant awareness of the non-sentinels, interlopers who remained in the suite. Elliot returned his full attention to the guide, willing the heart between his hands to beat. Stronger this time, and even more strongly the next. He sent his great vitality through his hands, and into the body of the guide. 

Elliot felt a tingle like low level electricity course through his body, his skin rippling with the energizing burn of it. Some of it seemed to come from the man behind him. He needed more, wanted more to funnel into the guide. Whatever the feeling was, it drew him like a bee to honey. He gathered it, forced it through himself, not keeping it for his own, he sent it on to the guide, felt it flow out, unevenly at first, then as he got the hang of it, faster and faster. He could feel the heartbeat grow stronger, the skin under his palms growing warmer. Ellison faltered, his head dropping down to rest on Elliot’s shoulder, then he steadied, head lifting, and Elliot knew that Blair had come into the room to support his sentinel.

“Gently.” Blair said to both of them, “too much is as bad as not enough. He needs time to heal.” Elliot knew that was right. He nodded, did not try to force more into his hands. The guide was still. So still. Then...Elliot felt it, so subtle as to be imaginary, but it was real. The guide was drawing on the combined energy now. Taking what he needed, not requiring Elliot to force it into him any longer. 

Blair was helping Jim to his feet; he wasn’t at all steady and when Blair took him over to a chair, the sentinel prime gratefully sank into it allowing his head to fall against Blair’s body, letting his guide support and rejuvenate him.

Elliot paid them no attention. He carefully lay his cheek against the chest of the man in the bed and listened to the strengthening beat of his heart.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Toby’s consciousness had retreated into the center of himself, a mere sliver of awareness. He was a tiny thing, sitting on a high stool, in a cold dark place at the eye of a grievous storm. It was insulated where he was; there were no other people, no other sounds. He sat. He was alone and he knew it. Black hurricane winds circled around him, a soundless power. He knew that there was a time when he had the control to stop those winds. A time when he had the power to bring stability to chaos. But that time had passed. There was too much pain and all his emotional strength was gone, he was utterly alone. 

A sound penetrated, just as he was beginning to fade. A deep, regular booming, both sound and feeling. Over and over. Comforting. Toby felt as if, maybe, he was not so alone when the sound/feel washed over him. It reached for him through the wind, touched him, called to him. And then there were two hands pulling at him taking him away from his isolation. Strong hands that felt comforting They held him and the tall stool he sat on so precariously tumbled into the black abyss, flashing, flashing as it fell out of sight. Warmth filled his body chasing away the bitter, paralyzing cold. Toby reached out to the comforting touch and let it fill him.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ 

Blair slipped out into the main room, closing the door behind him. Dr. Perry looked at him, her large eyes worried as she took in his expression, then she smiled. 

“It worked.” She stated. “Thank, god.” She shook her head, dashing a thumb under her eyes as tears welled up. “ I thought it was too late, I was afraid....” She shook her head again. Blair moved to her and hugged her. 

“You should all go,” he whispered, urging them towards the outer door. “Jim and I will take this watch. Elliot will stay with Toby, he won’t want anyone else near.” 

Winifred Perry was already reaching for her purse, nodding at the worried nurse, anticipating the need for the sentinels to exclude mundanes from the area. It was a high stress time, the first bonding, adding into the mix that Toby Granger had been terrifyingly near death, both Detectives Stabler and Ellison would not want him to be disturbed. Their overriding instinct was to secure him in a protected area while he healed. The fewer outside intrusions the better. 

“We can’t do that,” Senior Agent Cunningham said, also low voiced, but shaking his head in negation. “Mr Granger is in witness protection. He’s our responsibility. It is our job to protect him.” Stubbornly, he stood his ground, Agent Braithwaite obviously felt the same as he took his place backing up his partner. 

“We should be in there.” Braithwaite said looking genuinely worried.

“You need to get out of here, at least as far as the hallway.” Blair said, shaking his head. “Toby is very sensitive right now, he’s not completely out of the woods yet. If he picks up on all the discord in this room it could impact his acceptance of a bond with Elliott. All we know right now is that they’re compatible. Toby’s still unconscious, he could ...startle, at the presence of Elliot, when he comes to. That coupled with your well meaning worry, well, It’s not beyond possibility that he could shut down completely. If that happens there would be no way to reach him. It’s a critical time, they need a clear emotional field for the bond to happen. Any shock could have fatal consequences.”

“I’ll give you a medical letter, if you need it to cover your ass with your superiors,” Dr. Perry hissed sharply. “But Blair is right, we all need to go at least a little farther away. It may seem to you that we’re far enough not to bother them, but I assure you, that sentinel in there is a sentinel protecting a brand new bond with a vulnerable guide, he knows exactly to the inch how close we are, and we are too close.” She held open the door to the hallway, inclining her head. “I know you’re worried, but I assure you, no sentinel is going to cause harm to a guide. Toby being so ill is only going to motivate both sentinels to be more protective.” She waited for her words to sink in. If she had to she would call the Section Head and smoothy the way. 

“How do we know they won’t fight over him? They are both sentinels. What if Ellison wants him?” Marshall Cunningham asked, reluctant to leave. “Toby could get hurt.”

Blair made a face. “Sentinels are guide-monogamous; they bond for life. They don’t change guides! Jim will protect Toby, but he won’t try to bond with him.” He made no mention of his own semi-bond with Elliot while the sentinel had been unbonded. Such things were not ideal, and now with Toby Granger compatible Elliot's attentions would shift to him. 

Cunningham knew he had lost the argument and followed the doctor and nurse out the door. Braithwaite didn’t look happy, but went after his partner. He stopped in the hall clearly wanting to go back. Feeling he wasn’t doing his duty by the man he was supposed to watch over. “We can’t go much farther, doctor. Cunningham and I have to be at least the first line of defense. The men who want him dead are dangerous, and not even those two guys in there will be enough to protect our witness if he’s located.”

“I understand. If you stay out here in the hall it should be far enough. As for Toby, we’ll know soon, Toby will either die in the next two hours, or he will accept the bond and live. I had thought it too late but...maybe it is not.” Dr. Perry answered as she buttoned her coat against the chill. “Now let Carol and I get us all some lunch. We’ll bring it back for you. Chinese okay?” She prayed she was not going to have a partially bonded Sentinel on her hands, as well as a dead guide when she came back. She did feel more than grateful that Blair was still in the suite. At least there was someone inside who understood the delicate nature of the situation, and how precarious the new bond was.

@@@@@@@@@ 

“It’s all right,” He heard the voice say as a hand began to awkwardly pat his hair. He felt the uncertainty in the gesture, but also the sincerity. The deep voice soothed his nerves as it continued. “I’m here now, I’m your sentinel and I won’t let anyone else hurt you like that again.”

“Sentinel,” Toby muttered, trying to make sense of the word as his mind climbed to consciousness. He was warm, like the end of his dream, no longer afraid or alone. He wasn’t sure how that had happened, but he found he didn’t want to be alone again. He sighed, turning his head toward the source of the warmth. His chin brushed along bare skin, a man’s muscular forearm. He rested his cheek against it, content not to seek further for the moment.

“Yes,” Elliot said, encouraged that the guide had recovered enough to talk. He allowed himself to stroke the tangled mass of fine, golden hair back from his guide’s face.

“Sentinel?” Toby asked, opening his eyes to look at the man beside him. He felt a surge of joy when he saw the familiar face bent close to his. “Chris? I thought you were dead.”

“I’m not Chris Keller.” Elliot said, with more patience than his former co-workers would have believed possible. “I’m Sentinel Detective Elliot Stabler.” 

Toby shook his head trying to clear his mind gazing up into the deep-set hazel-blue eyes he’d missed. Chris was sitting in front of him, he could see him, he was talking, but what he was saying made no sense. “How did you do it? I saw you die.” A vast well of loss, of pain crashed down over him as he remembered Keller jumping over the rail, falling, landing broken on the concrete floor below, blood spreading in a slow, dark pool under him; Toby moaned, tears filling his eyes, blurring the face in front of him. “I saw you die.” He sobbed. His chest ached.

Elliott took Toby’s hand in his and spread his fingers pressing them to his own cheek. “Chris is dead, Toby,” he said in a comforting low voice. “I’m Elliot. I’m alive. I’m your sentinel. I’m here, and I promise I’m not leaving.”

“Chris.” Toby moaned, his free hand coming up to knot weakly in Elliot’s shirt front, even as the hand cupping Elliot’s cheek moved back, to curl fingers around the back of Stabler’s neck and pull him down. “I thought …. lost you.” He mumbled the words, exhausted.

Elliott understood that now was not the time to insist that Toby get his name right. The guide was recovering, but terribly fragile. Elliot let their lips meet in a fleeting kiss. Even that small amount of effort left Toby gasping. Elliot shushed him, stroking the pad of his thumb over the guide’s mouth. “You need to rest. I’m going to stay with you.” Elliott said. “There’s nothing you need to worry about. Just get better. Then we’ll talk.”

“Thirsty.” Toby said, his tongue rasping over his chapped lips. Elliot looked up, reluctant to move away and get water. Blair came to the rescue and brought a glass of water from the bathroom . Elliot helped his guide to drink after Blair moved back to stand beside Ellison; then he checked the perimeter visually, the door, the window, the walls. He listened, extending his hearing until he found the two unhappy Marshals standing guard in the hall. Ellison was between the bed and the door; he would be the second line of defense if any assault force made it past the Marshals. 

Elliot could relax. He could hold his guide and comfort him. Gently he scooted himself down in the bed until Toby’s head could rest on his chest. Content that he could see the door, he let himself gradually relax. The guide fretted when moved, but quieted when Elliot stilled. Melting against the strength of the sentinel who held him Toby drew in a tremulous breath, let it out in a rush and then he was asleep in Elliot’s embrace.

@@@@@@@@@@

Elliot was getting worried. Toby had fallen asleep around noon the day before and now it was morning and the guide was still sleeping. Aside from turning to the side to empty his bladder into the container Elliot held, Toby had barely moved. Elliot had tried to gently rouse him by changing position in the bed, but all that happened was that Toby would come partially awake cuddle in against Elliot and fall back into a sound sleep. 

Toby seemed to prefer skin to skin contact. Every time Elliot shifted in the bed, it brought a new round of touching by Toby, now Elliot’s shirt was completely unbuttoned. Toby had worked his hand under Elliott’s shirt, popping the buttons one by one, and one hand rested palm down on the silky thatch of the sentinel’s chest hair. Every movement, during the night, caused Toby’s fingers to fan, digging in, holding on, then slowly to relax. 

At one point Elliott had to ask Blair to remove his socks. Toby’s bare feet continued to rub at Elliot’s own socked feet and the guide made small sounds of frustration in his half sleep state. 

“Don’t worry,” Blair whispered, as he tucked the sheets back in, “this is normal behavior for a recovering guide.” 

“Yeah, well, It sure doesn’t take into consideration that I’m ticklish.” Elliot said, fighting not to squirm as Toby’s toes dug in, then fluttered against his ankle. The guide gave a small sigh of contentment, that only Elliot heard, before falling back into a deep healing sleep.

tbc...


	8. Eight

Chapter 8

Toby sat in the precinct bullpen assigned to the Cascade Major Crimes Unit and once again thought how insane this was. How unlikely was it that he, given his history, would be working here?

His life had undergone major changes in a direction he couldn’t have predicted only a year ago. Since his release from prison he found he had less, rather than more, control over how he lived his life. After the attempts on his life, the U.S. Marshal Service had descended on him like avenging angels, and made all the decisions for him.

He was supposed to be hiding from the Aryan Brotherhood. That part wasn’t too surprising, not since he had been tricked into killing Vern Schillinger, the head of the brotherhood in Oswald Penitentiary, when Chris had slipped him a real shank and not a fake prop. It was predictable the Aryans would want to make him pay, not a shock at all. It was the other change that baffled him. 

He was, apparently, a guide. Toby had heard of guides, nearly everyone had, but he’d never expected to find out he was one. Being a guide without a sentinel came damn close to killing him. Dr. Perry hadn’t minced words explaining just how close to death he’d been. Kidney failure, liver failure, heart failure; he’d come within hours of death; nor did she forget to emphasize the fact that finding a sentinel was what saved him, the sentinel who he’d woken up nuzzling with in bed. Rubbing bodies, nose buried in a strong neck, the light scent of the man filling his senses, an arm around his body. It was good, all good until he’d opened his eyes to a nightmare of confusion and fear.

The man looked so much like Chris that Toby was sure he’d died and gone to join Keller in hell; or that Keller had somehow staged his death and assumed a new identity, impossible as that was. Keller was back to claim him, and they weren’t in Oz any more, there was nothing to limit the ways Chris could own him now. Toby was afraid, shaking, terrified, and still profoundly in love with the man who had been his prison lover until plunging to his death off one of the tiers.

The man in the bed tried to calm him, tried to reassure him, but Toby wasn’t having any of it, wasn’t listening. Chris had found a way to reach beyond death and come back to him. Toby’s life really was fucked, and he found he didn’t care. There was someone he could hold at night now, someone who wanted him. Toby cried. 

It wasn’t until Toby was fully awake several days later that he realized that Elliot Stabler really was who he said he was, which was not Chris Keller, and that, just maybe, it was a good thing that Toby wasn’t dead.

It didn’t stop him from missing Chris or wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with the unsmiling man who so resembled him. Having Chris be alive was too frightening a reality for it to have turned out well. Keller while free had killed gay men, married several women (fucked even more), and in fact even as a prisoner he’d killed men who he had sex with. It was only Toby who he’d loved, who was the exception to the death curse that Chris seemed to carry with him, Toby didn’t doubt the declaration of love he recieved in the least, yet, even that wasn’t enough to keep Chris from hurting him.

So, yes, it was a good thing Keller was dead, a much as that hurt. And with the irony that only fate could come up with, Toby was now with his doppelganger, bound together every bit as tightly as he’d been with Keller. Stabler was different, Toby told himself, he had to be a better man than the serial killer, it would have been hard to be worse. That was a good thing, because, if he wanted to live, Toby had no choice but to stay with this new man who looked so much like his murderous former lover. 

Of course the Marshals changed his name again. He was now Jonathan Tobias Smith, J.T. for short. He even had his own badge, and a carefully detailed history that was made up for him, documented laboriously, with people, agents, who knew it by heart and would provide background if anyone ever checked. It was disconcerting, and he felt disassociated from reality when no one acknowledged he was anyone other than J.T. Smith, his former life vanishing as if it had never been. He couldn’t get rid of the instincts, the burning madness that had kept him alive in Oz. Maybe, given time J.T. Smith would be real. Toby didn’t want to die, so he got up every morning, went to work with his partner, answered to his new name, and tried to forget Tobias Beecher had ever lived. 

After three weeks of reviewing the manufactured history he knew it better than the guys who’d made it up. It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He had to forget the past and look to the future. Start all over again. No family, no friends. Just the men who he worked with, who he saw every day, his only social contacts, without them he was entirely alone in the world.

It was strange, being back involved with the law. Not exactly the same, he wasn’t a lawyer any longer, nor a prisoner, now he was a cop. But he understood the law, how it worked, though he’d mostly lost his faith in it. He saw the ins and outs better than the other men working along side him, he was always thinking up exit strategies, how the guilty could get away with murder. It gave him a perspective that was an advantage, anticipating the ways he could keep them from getting away with their crimes. It also kept his mind busy, made him feel less like he was going nuts.

As a bonded guide he was permanently assigned to Detective Sentinel Elliot Stabler who was responsible for him. It wasn’t like being partners in the law firm. No, the way Detective Stabler treated him wasn’t as if they were on an equal footing. Stabler had this obsessive need, one he obviously wasn’t comfortable with, to protect his new partner, J.T., nearly as if he was a child. Toby struggled not to notice, not to comment, not to yell that he wasn’t a ten year old. That he was a man. He wasn’t a prisoner any longer. Blair whispered to him that it would get better, once Stabler got used to having a guide. That couldn't happen soon enough for Toby.

Toby’s most memorable past relationships with officers were when he’d been incarcerated, where they taught him how to take a beating, how to obey without question, and the joys of solitary confinement if he disobeyed. Being bonded to an Alpha Sentinel , and being told what to do wasn’t an ideal situation, but Elliott was kind even though he didn’t smile much. However that wasn’t even the worst part of it. 

There were times, too often, when Toby was still caught off guard, and he would see Stabler and for one instant, a moment, he thought the man was Chris. His breath would catch, his heartbeat faltered, and then...Toby remembered. Chris was dead. The man in front of him wasn’t Keller; his heart would race for a while, and he had to fight not to gasp to catch his breath, not to weep in front of a room full of strangers. 

The worst part was that Stabler always knew. He would snap his head around and give Toby a look. Toby glared at him; he hoped it would be enough to teach Stabler to pretend he didn’t notice. At least that was what was supposed to happen. Only Stabler, instead of ignoring him, giving him privacy, would move closer, ask him in a low voice if he was all right, rubbing his neck, letting their bodies come into contact, always making it look accidental, making it pretty clear to Toby Elliot wasn’t well versed in discussing feelings with another man and that a guide had no secrets from his sentinel. 

Toby wondered why Stabler was trying to do it now, his hip brushing Toby’s shoulder, a steadying contact. Sentinel stuff, he supposed. Observing Ellison and Sandburg was like seeing himself and Stabler, in a way. But those two had a greater ease together, Blair giving in and seeming amused and touched by the protective instincts his partner displayed. Blair wasn’t any more cooperative, didn’t obey better than Toby did, but he did seem far less angry about it than Toby felt. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Toby would answer, when Stabler asked, but Elliot would always stare at him for a couple of seconds, as if he had to find an answer to some incomprehensible math equation before he could turn back to his police work and leave his guide to suffer in peace.

The apartment they shared was another thorn in the guide’s side. It was nearly as bad as the 6 by 9 cell that Toby had in Oz. The furniture was old, the walls stained, the linoleum cracked. The mattress was so bad that if the washed out beige carpet wasn’t worse Toby might have preferred to sleep on it. It was clean enough, after all Stabler was a sentinel, but it was threadbare and the padding had long since given up trying to pad anything. Toby hated it. 

So Toby slept with Stabler in the sagging, creaking bed, not having anywhere else to sleep. It wasn’t like he was used to having much space. But as soon as he got his first paycheck they were going to get a better place. Maybe one with two bedrooms. Toby wasn’t ready to admit he wasn’t going to sleep alone. Or that he’d miss rolling over in the night and fetching up against the warm body next to his. They never embraced in bed, Toby never put his arms around Elliot and held him, they didn’t have sex, but Toby needed to lay against the other man, needed for this touching to continue. As long as no one else knew or saw.

When his first paycheck arrived it took Toby less than a day to figure out that Stabler sent more than half to his ex-wife and kids in New York. Four kids took a lot out of a cop’s salary. It was the first thing that was done, Stabler sat at the kitchen table and wrote out a check; then they walked to the nearest mail box and dropped it in. It was a bi-montly routine that never altered.

Elliot was living on a pittance. It was the first thing that forged a conscious connection between them; they had both lost family, their former lives were unattainable. Toby missed his kids. Not talking to them ripped his heart out afresh every day. If they weren’t better off without him, safer, he could not have stood the pain. But he would manage. For them. Because they were safer with him thousands of miles away than with him near. 

In some ways living with Elliott was like living with a ghost. Many mornings their entire routine was begun, bathroom, coffee, breakfast, drive to work, and finished, without more than two words passing between them. 

The only time they were close was when they slept. 

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Blair was the one he turned to for conversation. The guide was very informative and supportive about the changes and adjustments Toby was being forced to make. He explained that Elliot's lack of conversation was a sentinel thing. An alpha male wasn’t too good, in Blair’s experience, at discussing feelings and tenderer things, and both of their men were alpha males. It explained the tensions that reared up from time to time when there were disagreements in just how to proceed. Not often, because the two did tend to think a lot alike. 

“If you want conversation,” Blair told him, “you’ll have to start it, but I warn you sentinels aren’t much for small talk unless it’s about some sports team they’re following, a good rare steak, or beer.”

Toby smiled at that, he liked a frosty cold beer, too. He was however, more like Blair in that he also liked his vegetables and wasn’t adverse to the herbal tea Blair started to share with him when they sat in the bullpen going over notes and theories. Tea that both Jim and Elliot regarded with horror and never, ever wanted to share. Both were definitely traditional coffee-and-donuts men. “Most men wouldn’t put sports talk in the same category as small talk. Sports are ~important~.” Toby laughed.

“Very true from their point of view.” Blair said, seriously, despite the grin they shared. “The only sports team I follow is the Jags, so I just put on my head phones and listen to my music while Jim is glued to the game of the week. Elliot is a fan, too. Get them together with a few 6-packs and turn on the tube and you will have the weekend free.” They grinned some more. Toby thought it was good to know, in case he really did need to get away.

When his pay check arrived it was Blair that Toby turned to about finding a new place to live. Blair knew the neighborhoods, and Toby, especially with his past, had no intention of taking a chance on moving into a locale dominated by crime and gangs. He had had enough of living with that element to last him a lifetime. By the end of the day Toby found himself with Blair touring a roomy loft apartment in the building that Ellison owned. 

Tall ceilings, an eat-in kitchen and a newly renovated bathroom. An airy, loft master-suite over looking the downstairs living area. Windows that let the morning light in through a lacy shield of leaves. Hardwood floors. Toby was salivating. There was no question, they were moving in here, preferably tonight. Even though they would have to sleep on an inflatable bed until they got real furniture, the inflatable would be more comfortable than the current bed he and Elliot shared. That was the only down side; this apartment didn’t come furnished. But Toby wasn’t going to let that slow him down. It was time for this guide to guide his sentinel right into a new place to live.

“Why didn’t Jim tell Elliot about this apartment when he first met him?” Toby asked. “I thought that sentinels have a, “we take care of our own”, motto.”

“They do,” Blair answered, “but Elliot was at the same meet where Jim claimed me for his guide. Elliot had moved to claim me, too, but Jim got to me first. There was a moment where they confronted each other, and came pretty close to blows. Elliot chose to back down, but it was a near thing. A sentinel with a guide wants to keep some distance from an un-bonded sentinel. Living in the same building was just too close for comfort.” Blair shook his head and smiled again. The younger man was always smiling, always happy. Toby envied him that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been really happy. Maybe when he’d spent time with his kids, before Oz. It had been too long.

“But they’re partners,” Toby said. “That’s a lot closer than being a couple of doors down the hall when you’re sleeping.” Sentinels apparently didn’t have a lot of common sense. Maybe that was what guides were really for. 

“Hey man, I hear you,” Blair said. “There was a lot of stress on all of us. I think it was the seriousness of the case we’re working on that kept them focused on work...most of the time.” Blair shuddered and Toby found himself reaching out to put a supporting hand on Blair’s arm. The case was awful. Human trafficking and prostitution of underage kids. Toby had been raped, he’d been owned, he’d been helpless, and he could identify. He wanted to bring the men who were behind this down, make them pay and destroy them with a need that was scorching in its intensity. 

Blair leaned into the touch, accepting it in the comforting manner it was meant, not shy at all, as secure in his masculinity as Toby wished he was. After a moment Toby withdrew his hand. It wasn’t awkward at all. He felt a warmth in his chest, almost a contentment. It felt good. 

Toby reflected again how strange it was that he was not afraid of Stabler. Stabler was...just not scary. He came close to laughing when he realized that a lot of other people would think he was crazy for having that point of view. Most people did think of Elliot and Ellison as pretty damn frightening.

When the two guides got back to Jim’s apartment and Toby began to tell them about all the perks of the place he’d just toured, Elliot could tell that Toby wasn’t going to spend another night in the dump he was renting. He gave in as gracefully as he could, nodding in all the right places, his attention completely focused on his guide. 

They signed the papers right there and then, Elliot surrendering to the fact that refusal would not be a viable option, nor would asking if they should look at any other options first, before making the decision. Jim handed them the keys and as quickly as that they had a new place. 

They went back to the old place and Stabler packed his few possessions in less than half a dozen boxes, Toby only needed three for his things; the move was accomplished in one trip, and there was satisfaction rolling off Toby in waves. Elliot thought that made it all worth it.

That evening they were eating Chinese takeout on the air bed, using cold beer to cool the heat of the hot peppers that spiced the food. Elliot never appreciated having a guide as much as when he realized he could actually taste food now, enjoy it, not have to fear his senses running amok and making him feel poisoned by anything more flavorful than steamed white rice. He dug into the multiple cartons with something close to joy. 

Saturday morning Toby and Blair went to make the rounds of Cascade’s second hand furniture stores, Jim and Elliot having declined to go along on the shopping trip, preferring to stay and watch college football. Jim did, however, graciously loan them his truck, handing over the keys with admonitions to watch the other motorists on the road, and the four men had spent the afternoon moving the furniture into the apartment. By 5 pm the place looked like home. 

Elliot took his place on the huge sectional in front of the wide-screen TV, remote in one hand, a beer in the other.

Toby was elated. 

tbc...


	9. Nine

Chapter 9

The case was at a standstill. Hundreds of hours of time spent, three failed raids with nothing to show for the effort and man power utilized, nothing except bored/pissed off cops and an unhappy Mayor. Simon and the other captains were starting to look less supportive when Jim or Elliot asked for officers. Captain Miller in fact looked far less than pleased when he saw them in the hall two days ago, but he’d signed off on the request for half a dozen officers Ellison handed him. Next time he might send them away without it. The stake out had been another bust. 

Detective Jim Ellison shook his head. He didn’t know what was wrong. The Intel was good, he’d swear to it. His senses told him he was on the right track, his gut was certain. Yet, raid after raid, they netted nothing, no evidence, no suspects, just empty warehouses and deserted houses. He shook his head, it didn’t make sense. Their quarry seemed able to disappear into thin air leaving nothing behind, not even for a pair of seriously motivated sentinels, to find.

Jim leafed through the file that held all they knew about the child-trafficking case. Mostly made up of computer printouts it was already several inches thick. Photographs of the young victims and a few barely-over-eighteen women appeared from time to time as he turned the pages. Each face was terrified or drugged, sometimes both, usually delicately built Asians or blondes looking far too young for Jim to want to notice what they were or weren’t wearing. Often there were bruises at wrists or ankles, but few other obvious signs of abuse unless you looked into their eyes. No, Jim knew those more physical signs were hidden under the tiny swim suits, the brief tight shorts the children wore. Most were girls, less than ten were prepubescent boys.

Blair had tried just this morning to go through the book and discover what they had overlooked, the reason, any reason that their raids kept coming up empty. He’d ended up in the restroom, being quietly sick, when Jim found him, with J.T. standing protectively next to him, a sharp eye on the door. 

Stabler’s guide’s eyes, normally flat and uncommunicative, were wary, holding a knowledge in their depths that Ellison understood as the thousand yard stare. It was usually seen in men who’d spent too much time on the battlefield and survived by reverting to the primitive animal warrior, forgetting civilisation and humanity. 

Oswald Penitentiary was not a good or safe place, and J.T. had visited its deepest, darkest places many times too often. It was understandable why J.T. didn’t much trust communal bathrooms, sometimes the worst places in prison were showers and restrooms. He believed in doors with locks and privacy. Never those public places and the memories they held, indelibly imprinted on his psyche and his body, they’d left scars, some visible some not, he might never heal from the experience, he certainly would never be the man he’d been before Oz. Jim didn’t envy Elliot. The guide who now stood and guarded Blair’s back was a bomb waiting for a trigger. Jim hoped that when it exploded it would not be aimed at Elliott.

As Jim entered the men’s room, Toby headed for the door. He didn’t say anything, and when Jim said, “Thanks,” in a low voice, there was only a slight hesitation in the other’s step, and then a nod. The door closed behind him as Jim leaned down to put a hand on Blair’s back. Blair wiped his mouth on a wad of toilet tissue, then let his head sag against Jim’s thigh. Jim fought against the image that came into his mind, Blair on his knees, head inches from Jim’s groin, it wouldn’t look innocent to anyone coming into the room. Sentinels and Guides had to put up with enough faggot jokes, no way Jim wanted to be caught out like this at work. He reached down and helped Blair to his feet, steadying him and leading him to the sink. 

Warm water, not cold. He washed his guide’s face, ear tuned in to the foot traffic in the corridor, until he heard Stabler’s voice right outside, making sure they had a few minutes of privacy. J.T.’s heartbeat was close, too. But Ellison knew how Toby hated to talk to strangers; he’d recruited his sentinel for that duty. It was frightening to realize that of the two, Elliot was by far the more gregarious and sane. 

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@

It was instinctive for both Ellison and Stabler to want their guides out of the spotlight, more so with J.T. being part of Witness Protection. Blair thought from time to time that his sentinel considered putting him ‘under lock and key’ instead of just behind the scenes. Not that Blair would cooperate with being kept that far out of sight. After being tossed into the secure room on Stabler’s first day, Blair had made it very clear that Ellison was on thin ice. 

Blair was not a child, rather a grown man who could take care of himself. He was a very social creature. J.T. wasn’t so much. Despite their differences the two guides got along well. Blair talked a lot. J.T. preferred to listen more; Blair understood the necessity of keeping J.T. away from prying cameras and had simply gone along, without an argument, when the two sentinels decided to tuck them away in the break room while they attended a press conference. Well, Jim thought, thank God for small blessings. Let the world think that he and Elliot were just possessive, overprotective sentinels if it would keep the public attention off J.T. and Blair.

Blair showed the strain of the case on his face; his eyelids seemed to droop a bit and while his mouth still smiled his eyes held a melancholy look. J.T. realised that they had never really talked about the case. He just did what ever the sentinels needed him to do for research, but mostly he stayed unobtrusively near Elliot. Blair was usually at the single computer they all shared, digging into the meat of the case, unearthing new developments or more missing kids. It made sense that if Toby was going to help, then he should find out what Blair knew that he didn’t.

J.T. took a sip of the ginger tea and looked at the man who had become his friend and confidant. Against all odds he’d found a person he was certain was trustworthy. A man he liked. That he got to work with the other guide on a daily basis was a bonus.

Toby swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Are we at a dead end with this case?” he asked, swirling the dregs of the tea in the bottom of his cup. It reminded him of a dog’s head, a little. He swirled it again. No, that was definitely an owl. Or maybe a cat.

Blair looked up from his own steaming cup of tea, “I keep trying to find what I missed,” Blair said, swiping a finger at the steam condensing on his glasses, “but I just can’t find it. There has to be something. I know we are on the right track.”

“Tell me about the case,” J.T. said, settling his chair closer to the table and leaning his elbows on the scarred and scratched surface. It was Ellison’s side of the desk he half shared with Blair, the spotless half. “How did you end up with what you have so far? Who did the research and how did they decide it was time to raid and where?”

“Some of it was my research,” Blair said, “I was on the Internet and found a kid, a girl up for auction. We tried to track the address down, got bounced around to a dozen different countries, and we had no luck in the end. We know the traffickers are here in Cascade now, the port is their entry point to the rest of the country. We’re trying to find out how they’re getting the kids in and out of the U.S.. How are they keeping it so secret, and why isn’t anyone in the neighborhood calling in tips; or noticing something is wrong? I’ve lived in a lot of places, and believe me neighbors notice everything.”

“They may be hiding them in plain sight,” J.T. said. “Telling the neighbors that the kids are exchange students, or if they are too young for that maybe they are claiming to be a foster home. Neighbors wouldn’t call that in unless there was a problem.”

Blair’s eyes filled with hope for the first time in days. “Of course, but it will be hell telling a legal foster home from a fake one, even if we knew for sure that is what they’re doing. And there are too many kids for one home. If we go public with it we’ll just be tipping them off and they’ll move the kids. Besides I don’t think the neighbors will stand for all the traffic in and out of a private home on a residential street. That is one thing that is guaranteed to generate calls to the cops.”

“Maybe there isn’t a residential house being used,” J.T said. “A con once told me about a floating crap game. It was run out of the back of an 18 wheeler. They would run up and down the highway all night. He bragged that they made 5 million before they were discovered. The only reason the cops caught on was because a blizzard hit and the truck jack-knifed and blocked the road. The patrons couldn’t wait to get out, about two dozen poured out onto the roadway just as the Highway Patrol pulled up.” He shook his head coming as close to a smile as Blair had seen in the entire time they’d known each other.

“A truck would explain a lot.” Blair said, slowly. The scenario had a lot of appeal when he thought about it. “It will be easier for us to look for a truck traveling in circles than a fake foster home. All the major roads have intersection cameras. We need to tell Jim and Elliott about your theory.” He checked his watch. “And I could eat something. wasn’t in the mood for a donut this morning when Rhonda came around.” He grumbled something under his breath about saturated fat, as Toby noticed it was after one already. His stomach growled at him. Food sounded like a really good idea.

Blair looked around, noticing that only Megan and Joel were in the bullpen. The other detectives were no where to be seen. He frowned. It was pretty unusual to have both sentinels willingly absent from where ever their guides were. He glanced over at Simon’s office. Empty. So, probably an update or briefing was going on in the building. 

“Huh. I don’t know where the guys are. Let’s go grab something for all of us and bring it back. They should be around by then. Chinese sound good? There is this great organic vegetarian Asian fusion place over on Blythe. Spicy goodness, and low fat, too. I’m thinking Kung Pao Tofu cutlets with veggie rice and Chinese greens with mushrooms. Great stuff.”

J.T. nodded. He was willing to bet the sentinels would want something a little more meaty, but if it tasted good, he could do vegetarian. And spicy was fine. “Sounds good. But I think we should swing by Wonderburger if you want to keep Jim and Elliot happy.”

Blair made a face. “Wonderburger. Man, I can’t figure out how he is still alive eating that three days a week. It’s his go-to-place, you know. I can get him to eat some fruit, a few vegetables if I cook, but if you ask him what he wants, it’s always that greasy spoon.” He shook his head, his curls swaying as he grabbed at them to put in the the fabric covered rubber band. Toby finally took pity on him and helped. “Thanks.” Blair said as they headed for the coat rack. “I’ll drive.” He grabbed Jim’s keys.

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Blair and Toby returned with the food at the same time as the sentinels stormed in from the case briefing. Nothing less than the bags of burgers, grease soaking through the sides, could have taken the thunderous looks from Ellison and Stabler’s faces. They’d been told to get their heads out of their asses, they had 48 hours more, then the mayor was going to appoint a task force and hold another press conference. The task force was not, incidentally, going to be headed by either Detectives Ellison or Stabler, but by someone else who could get positive results instead of wasting police resources on wild goose chases. 

Blair thought he could actually hear Jim’s molars grinding when he looked up and saw his sentinel’s knotted jaw. He gave up on the idea of teasing Jim, lecturing him on how good the vegetarian entree was for him before giving in and handing over the hamburgers. He put the Wonderburger bags in the detectives’ hands without a word, then he and J.T. started to set out their own food. It looked good, and it smelled divine. Blair felt the saliva flood his mouth. 

“Where’d you get this stuff?” Elliot asked, burrowing through his bag. Super-sized burger, extra onions, fries, giant chocolate shake, double apple pies. He grunted in satisfaction, lifting the items out of the sack and smoothing it flat to serve as a placemat, fastidious to a fault. 

“We went out and picked it up,” Blair said, slowly. He sensed trouble behind the question, silently he handed Jim the keys to the truck. He and J.T. exchanged a glance. OK, J.T. sensed it, too, badness on the way. 

“Both of you?”Jim asked, stopping in the act of neatly folding down the edges of the wrapper from his own burger and tearing a corner off a ketchup packet. He shook his head in an almost exact mimicry of what Elliot was doing next to him. Two very unhappy sentinels. Jim’s face was back to the forbidding frown he’d first come into the room with. 

“Of course, both of us. Why, what’s the big deal?” Blair asked, fighting against rolling his eyes at the expression both sentinels turned his way. “We were back in twenty minutes, thirty minutes tops. No problems. We aren’t kids guys, we were careful.” J. T. wore a ball cap and sunglasses in the car. Of course they had walked into the Asian food store and stood in the line there, and J.T. had to take off the glasses then or risk running into things. But what kind of self respecting criminal hung out in an organic food market?

“I don’t think J.T. should be going to public places without me.” Elliot said after a moment, when he could trust himself not to yell. “It could be dangerous. The Aryans found him in Vermont. Nothing to say they can’t stumble across him here in Cascade. Vermont is more out of the way than Washington state.”

“Don’t worry we used the drive-thru.” Blair said, trying to mollify the worried sentinel. “I drove, no one paid any attention to us.” Jim shook his head, took a bite of the fragrant beef, chewed blissfully. 

“Blair, Jim said. “We need to be careful. All of us. Don’t go out without one or both of us. Not again. It is not just J.T., there are plenty of people who know that you are my guide. And know that a bonded sentinel will do anything to protect his guide. They may try to use you or J.T. to try and manipulate us into tanking this case. There is big money at stake. It is national, not local, and that means that there are some powerful men behind it.”

Blair nodded unhappily. He knew the same thing. He felt safer now that he was bonded, but it did bring up new dangers. He could be used as a tool against Jim. There were people desperate and evil enough to do it. “I’m sorry Jim, Elliot. I’ll be more careful.” 

Next to him, J.T. also nodded, eyes fixed on his lunch, eating slowly. He had no illusions when it came to Nazis and what they were capable of. He’d let his guard down, Cascade felt like a whole different world. He had Elliot now, he was a guide, he had a sentinel who could sense trouble a mile away, literally. But not being afraid, not being cautious was stupid, and he couldn’t afford it. He could get hurt, and anyone around him could be killed. 

Both sentinels heard Blair’s stomach rumble as he stirred his food without taking a bite. He hadn’t been eating much during the case. It was hardly good for his appetite. Scolding him wasn’t helping. Jim reached over and squeezed Blair’s wrist. 

“Eat,” Jim told his guide. “I don’t want you to get all bony.” 

Blair looked up and blushed at the gleam in his sentinel’s eyes. “J.T. and I were talking,” Blair said more than willing to change the subject, “and he came up with an idea. What if the bad-guys were using a semi-truck as a brothel on wheels? They could be entertaining customers and transporting kids to the state line, too. Two birds with one stone. A quick transfer at the border and back to Cascade for another load. No stationary target, no clues for us to find.”

Elliot took a huge bite of his burger, feeling the juices soak into his taste buds. He almost rolled his eyes and moaned. Then Blair’s words sank in. He chewed, swallowed. Nodded his head. “Like that truck with the gamblers in New York a few years back.” He said after he’d thought about it. “I remember that one. No one had even thought about the possibility. The bust was worth over five million bucks. The Highway guys didn’t stop bragging for months.”

“It’s a good place to look,” Jim said. “We could start by reviewing the traffic cams. If the four of us do it we should be able to find something. I don’t want to go ask for more manpower, not after the reaming we took today.”

“We should start at the docks and warehouse districts,” Elliot said after taking a large gulp of his chocolate shake. “That would be a good place to pick up the johns. It’s isolated and no one would question trucks coming and going.”

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Scott Gunther couldn’t believe his luck. He looked down at the picture he’d snapped with his cell phone when the hippy and his passenger had driven up to the drive-thru. He was certain it was the informant from New York. The reward had been upped just this week to $50,000 on the brotherhood’s website. Scott could seriously use that kind of dough, and the street cred would help his rep, too, so he’d taken an extra long look at the grainy photos. The guy looked a little different, a few years older, not as nuts as in the prison pictures and he didn’t have a goatee any more. But it was him. No doubt in Scott’s mind at all. 

When he got home, Scott was going to make a call, and he’d be a fifty thousand richer soon. He’d quit this suck job, buy himself some killer weed and veg out for a few weeks basking in the praise. Maybe he’d get a rad new bike. No one else had been able to find the guy for 6 months. Now he, Scott Gunther, had done it. He was The Man!

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Walt Reinenger frowned at the photo that Scott Gunther had sent him. He was not as sure as Gunther was that the man in the photo was who the brotherhood was looking for. The photo of the two men was in profile and profiles could be tricky. The focus was fuzzy, from a cheap cell phone. And that wasn’t his only concern. What was Tobias Beecher, if it was the informing, faggot scum, doing with a hippy freak? They knew for sure Beecher had been taken into witness protection and the guy in the truck sure wasn’t a Marshal. Not only that, but Gunther, the idiot, had failed to take a picture of the truck’s license plate. Knowing they were looking for an older blue and white Chevy truck wasn’t that much help. Or it might have been a Ford, or a Dodge. And how old was it? Ten years old? Twenty? The Gunther kid had shit for brains.

It made it harder to figure out just who this guy was. Still Gunther had been pretty sure, and there was a chance that it wasn’t just his greed for the $50,000 reward. The lead would have to be checked out. Reinenger wasn’t going to trust this to anyone else. He would go to Cascade himself. He picked up the phone to book a plane ticket from New York to Seattle, a six hour trip and god only knew who he would be stuck sitting next to. Better upgrade to first class. The airlines might let anyone sit next to him.

If this lead panned out the brotherhood would show they were a force to be reckoned with. Not even Witness Protection and the U.S. Government could protect you if you betrayed the Nation. Reinenger smiled. It didn’t pay to count on the tip being real, but if it were then the glory days were coming soon. He would personally slit the man’s throat and let him know what happened to those who killed men like Schillinger, an Aryan leader who'd ruled the prison Nazis with an iron fist. 

tbc...


	10. Ten

Chapter 10

The sentinels and guides had been working eighteen hours straight, lunch was a distant memory delivered to and eaten at their desks with extra large coffees to keep them going. Their collective attention had been mostly riveted to the reports coming in from the uniformed officers who had been asked to pay a little extra attention to the truck traffic while they drove their patrols. It hadn’t helped the sentinels concentration that the missives were being typed and delivered to Major Crimes by one of the new young and very attractive secretaries. One particular woman had been appreciated intensely by Jim and Elliot as well as H and Brian Rafe on the other side of the bullpen. 

Blair was concentrating on entering the new data into the computer. J.T. was helping by sorting the notes into area concentrations. Neither guide was watching the lovely Ms. Jones as she walked in and out of the office, twitching her hips more than strictly necessary. Neither noticed when she had stopped coming in with new information four hours ago. Or when Brian and H had slipped out. Now only the two sentinels and their guides remained out on the floor.

Simon’s customary bellow caught them by surprise as he broke into the peaceful division of labor. “That’s it. Everyone home. You can report back in the morning. But until then I want each of you to go home, have a beer, eat dinner sitting down and relax. There will be no more overtime or the Mayor will come down himself and put us out of our misery. I want all of you gone by the time I get to the elevators.” He turned and went back into his office to retrieve his coat, hat and briefcase. 

Jim and Elliot stared at each other, both wanting to protest that they weren’t tired, Jim was scowling, about to open his mouth when Blair gave a jaw cracking yawn. Elliot switched his attention over to J.T. as Jim hurried over to his guide. 

J.T. was sorting with more focused determination than energy. He didn’t do much that would draw attention to himself, didn’t complain often, and even then it was so quietly done that Elliot often missed it until Blair gave him a heads up. Elliot was still learning about his guide, but that didn’t keep him from feeling a frisson of guilt; he should have noticed that his guide was running on fumes. He moved over to the man who, having heard the command to leave, was sitting in his chair, as if paralysed, unable to find the strength to stand and get ready to go. Elliot helped him to his feet, pleased that J.T. didn’t flinch away from his touch. 

Coat, hat, muffler. Elliot dressed his guide for the trek to the parking lot, with J.T. giving into a huge yawn that set Blair off again. Food was the only thing they needed aside from getting their guides home. 

“Takeaway,” Jim said, jerking his knitted cap down over his ears, then rechecking Blair’s.

“Chinese.” Elliot confirmed, as they led their sleepy partners out of the bullpen and into the elevators. It was late enough that there was no one else on the floor. Simon wedged himself into the remaining space, his six foot six inch frame taking up more than its far share of that. 

“May I suggest Rosie’s on 34th?” He said without turning to face his officers. Elliot reached over and depressed the button for the ground floor. 

“Actually Canton Kitchen is better....” Jim began, “ No MSG.” He explained. 

“Yes, but they are closed at 2am. Rosie’s is open. And they have some selections without additives. The Vegetarian Menu.” Simon concluded, facing forward so the other men couldn’t see his slightly malicious pleasure using the V word. “I better not see any of you back here before noon. Have a good night.” He strode off to his car.

Elliot and Jim exchanged a grimace. Vegetarian choices were usually more of an accident than a planned diet item for either man. But, they did have guides to feed, and didn’t want to feel drugged by MSG tomorrow. Sentinels didn’t tolerate MSG well. 

By unspoken agreement they headed towards Stabler’s large sedan rather than take 2 vehicles home. That way one could go in and pick up the order, while the other Sentinel stayed in the car with their drowsy guides. Jim flipped open his cell to place the order as he slid into the passenger seat. 

Blair was already laying down with his head in J.T.’s lap, quietly snoring, while J.T. leaned into the corner of the seat, barely managing to keep his eyes open. 

 

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Toby had slept for 4 hours, but now he lay unmoving on his back, trapped between sleep and wakefulness, with an insistent erection demanding attention. 

The new mattress was comfortable, king sized, long enough that his feet didn’t hang over the edge. Wide enough that he and his sleeping companion didn’t touch at all. Once again he wondered why he hadn’t insisted on two doubles, or two queens. One upstairs in the loft, one downstairs in the more modestly sized room under the stairs. There was no reason to continue sleeping in one bed in the new apartment. They weren’t having sex. So why sleep together? If he was in his own bed he’d be taking care of his “problem” right now, not worrying about waking up a sentinel.

If it were a matter of security, then Elliot could be the one to sleep downstairs. Toby sighed. He remembered shopping for the bed with Blair.

It was just assumed that they’d get one bed, just taken for granted they’d both sleep in it. Why hadn’t Toby talked it over with Elliot? Made a conscious decision one way or the other? Now, because they hadn’t talked about it, it felt fragile, uncertain, accidental. He had no idea if Stabler was comfortable with it, or if he’d prefer separate beds. 

He sighed, keeping the exhalation quiet, staring up at the ceiling while his thoughts raced. He kept his hands away from his erection, knowing that once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

Elliot was snoring softly a foot away, tangled with his two pillows and the rest of the linens, arms spread wide and partly raised. Blanket hog, Toby thought neutrally. Another problem that would be corrected by having a second bed in the empty room downstairs. Even a twin-long would suffice, Toby had learned to sleep in narrow confines, with ten years of practice while behind bars. Even now he hardly moved when he slept, subconsciously careful so as not to be dumped to the floor by an incautious turn one way or the other. Or was he afraid of what would happen if he rolled up against his bed-mate? What Elliot would do if faced with another man’s erection. 

Why was he still here, in the same bed as the man who looked so much like his dead lover? Who made his breath catch with both fear and longing if he was caught unaware, daydreaming? Not exactly twins, Chris had had more scars, different musculature, was lean and cut. And his attitude...that was the greatest difference. Chris was flamboyant, aggressively male, leading with his hips as if inviting everyone, male or female to acknowledge his appeal, his prowess. An open invitation to swing on his dick if they dared. Chris was always dangerous, especially if he loved you. 

Elliot wasn’t that way. The detective sentinel’s sexuality was controlled, firmly suppressed, but Toby could feel it underneath the calm exterior, a hidden, seething cauldron kept at a simmer. Toby, even after months, had no idea if the sentinel was strictly a ladies man, or if he was open to exploration. Elliot was all about self control; he didn’t flirt, he didn’t seduce, he never laid a hand on anyone that Toby saw other than himself or rarely Blair. Once, maybe twice he put out a hand to help a vic, but there was no sexual intent in it, none at all. 

What was it that was between them? Sentinel and guide? Man and lover? Friends? Less? Toby looked over at the tall rectangles of the un-curtained windows. Elliot could look out into the early morning sky, see things that to Toby were only undefined splotches in the far distance. He could smell the scent of cinnamon from the bakery blocks away, hear the slap, slap, slap of the ocean against the ships in port three miles to the west. Toby could only hear the crickets in the field next to the building, the cars slowly negotiating the wet roads, smell the dampness that scented the air, see the storm on the way. They shared little as far as senses, Elliot's being far more acute, Toby’s merely average human. As if they lived in different worlds. What could they be to each other? It was as if they weren’t even the same species? A cat and a dog, together finding shelter under the same roof, but not the same at all. 

Toby found it hard to understand how Elliot felt about him. It was obvious how he felt about work. The last thing he wanted was to risk getting a punch for making an unwelcome advance. 

Elliot was a sentinel, he was driven to protect the citizens of Cascade, to police his new territory. He threw himself into the work without reserve. That didn’t help Toby understand what he was to the man. Or what was OK between them, and what was not. He didn’t know a lot about sentinels or guides. He’d never been trained, never has as much as an orientation. He had literally woken up from his death bed and was told he was a guide and Elliot was the sentinel he would be spending the rest of his life with. That was all. Blair probably knew more, but Toby hadn’t found a way or a time to ask him yet.

Chris had been a sentinel, too, or so they’d told him, and there had been no communication block between Toby and Chris, except Chris’ madness. The craziness that lingered always beneath the surface of who he was. Murderer, self-hating bisexual, devouring, breaking, loving Toby with a fierce possessiveness that eventually Toby came to both fear and crave. The way Chris took for granted his body, his surrender, his ownership, making love to him in a glass house and not caring who or how many watched what they did. That was Chris. Yelling fuck-you at the world at the top of his lungs, and meaning every word, lashing out with indiscriminate blows at anyone within reach.

Elliot was nothing like that. He kept his anger on a leash, not denying it was there, but instead harnessing it as a tool. His intense, hooded eyes, dark and hazel instead of Keller’s blue, boring into the gaze of whoever he addressed, only made people trust him to do what he promised, believe he cared, believe he’d fight for them, get justice for them no matter what it took. No one had ever believed that about Chris Keller. 

Toby had seen Elliot’s banked anger boil over only once. They had gone to a house sure that the kidnapped girls were there, only to find it empty, uninhabited for months. Elliot had yelled so loud it was almost a scream and punched the wall three times in quick succession before beginning to pace in jagged circles. The uniformed officers with them had raised their weapons, exchanging nervous glances, before Ellison ordered them out. 

Being with Chris had taught Toby to stay away from such fits of anger so he was content to wait it out, safe behind a partly opened door, beyond the reach of long arms and hard fists, able to see Stabler, but with the exit close enough so that he could get outside if he had to. 

Until Blair came to him, took his arm at the elbow, leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Go to him, he needs you.” He looked at his friend wondering if the guide had suddenly gone insane, but all he saw in Blair’s eyes was concern. “Go,” Blair whispered a second time and Toby, still doubting the wisdom of the action, went. Elliot had calmed as soon as his guide’s hand touched his arm. Toby watched it happen... faster than he thought possible; he saw Elliot’s control slip back into place. Saw the way Elliot’s body turned into his own, making a connection between them, a charged space, and then it was over, no blows exchanged, Elliot simply turned away and went back to working the case, ignoring his bloodied knuckles. Toby felt a sudden emptiness descend on him and shoved it aside as he trailed his co-workers out of the house. 

Now, that empty feeling was back, a hole in his being, amplified by the too long past day, followed by a fitful, anything but restful, sleep; the emptiness needing to be filled, his hard cock refusing to be ignored. 

Toby let his gaze fall lower, eyes adjusting down toward the figure sharing the bed, until he stared at his bed-mate’s face. 

Was this what sentinels and guides did in bed? Slept without touching? Was it sufficient to know your partner was near? Or was the wrestling, sheet tearing sex he’d had with Chris the way it should be? Suppose that Chris was his one true match, and now that he was gone, did that mean all Toby could expect was this less than companionable sleep? No other true match. Only a body to sleep next to? Preternatural quiet in the night? No caresses, no making love? No whispered demands? No maniac laughter with the sheets pulled over their heads, drenched with sweat and momentarily breathless with orgasmic satisfaction? Maybe that part of his life was over? If it was over he wondered how long he could live that way, his nights filled with silent, motionless dark. How long before he found what he needed somewhere else, and what Stabler would say if he did.

Desperate to break the pattern, Toby extended his hand towards the sleeping man. Slowly, slowly, six inches from Stabler, three inches, one.... Then he was there, fingertips barely grazing the cotton covered shoulder. Stabler had touched him in bed, he recalled suddenly. When he was ill, dying, he remembered being held, Blair’s voice, Stabler’s arms, Ellison’s hands. But why had they stopped touching except for those tiny, almost impersonal touches at work or in public, touches that showed Stabler’s right of possession, of ownership of the guide, adjusting the collar of a coat, the drape of a muffler. Or touches needed to recall the sentinel to reality, guiding him back from a near zone

Elliot’s skin was warm under Toby’s fingers even through the cotton, his flesh strong, resilient. Toby let his fingers slide further, touching more of the man, a little more every second, his eyes flitting from sleeping face, to shoulder. Stabler’s shoulders, his deep chest, hell his whole body was thickly muscled, solid, heavier than Chris’ by twenty or thirty pounds, and little of it fat. Dense hard muscle that Toby needed, wanted close. Toby was still prison lean, he felt small next to the man in his bed. He felt...he wanted to be held by the larger man. The sentinel. He felt need, a desire for reassurance, for contact. Impossible to ask for it aloud. And it seemed, unlikely to be offered. 

Daring, his hand refused to be still. He let it move down and forward, over the swell of chest, lightly haired, as solid as he had suspected, bare in the deep v of the shirt. Masculine. Powerful. His thumb moved without permission, stroking, not willing to remain as still as the rest of his hand which lay soaking up the heat of drowsing flesh. His thumb dared to move, dared to graze the edge of one dark coined nipple hiding under the fabric. Elliot didn’t move, but Toby knew he wasn’t asleep any more, felt it in his head, his eyes were open when Toby raised his own, head turned toward him. 

They lay, staring into each other’s eyes. Blue and hazel, absolutely still as seconds ticked by, caught in the web, then Toby’s thumb moved, across the peaked nipple, over rough hair under the T-shirt. Very gradually, Toby balled his fist in the shirt, dragging up the edge, until it was bunched up under Elliot’s chin, baring more hair-washed skin, until Toby could stroke his whole hand across naked skin. Then Stabler moved, his own hand coming up grasping Toby’s, turning them so that their hands locked palm to palm, Elliot forcing their joined hands behind Toby’s body, into the small of his back, flexing hard. Toby heard himself gasp, pulled forward tight against Elliot’s body, his head tucked in, involuntarily, protective, Elliot’s mouth resting next to his ear. Words coming in a whisper, so low it took a moment for the guide to hear them.

“If you touch me like that I need you to mean it...” Elliot said in a murmur that still managed to be a half growled order. His body pressed tighter to the thinner man’s, larger, overwhelming, heavy. He moved partway on top of Toby, pressing him back into the mattress, looming, knee poised to push between Toby’s legs. “Do you know what you are asking for?”

“I know.” Toby whispered, his voice a thready gasp. “I need you.” 

Stabler watched him, looking down into his face until Toby had to turn his head, had to hide his face in Elliot’s neck, again. He smelled of sweat, aftershave, the fine bristles of his beard rough on Toby’s lips. Toby kissed his throat, his tongue stealing out to rasp over the sleep damp skin. 

It was all Elliot needed, the words, the feel of Toby’s tongue on his neck; like a dam held in check, lust burst out of control and a wave of hunger washed over him. Elliot’s free hand moved lower, grabbing Toby’s hip, dragging their bodies closer, tighter, wedging a thigh hard between Toby’s legs, pressing high, close, up against his testicles, until Toby gasped, then grinding their pelvises together, a little painful, but so good. 

Toby knew this dance, knew the steps and had missed it. He rolled onto his back bringing Elliot partway with him, liking the weight that dropped onto his body and pressed him down into the mattress. God he’d missed this. He dug his fingers into Elliot’s back. Pushed his cock up into muscled friction.

Elliot touched him, a hand on his face holding his chin, meeting his eyes, and for an instant Toby was back inside Oz looking up at Chris. Sentinels apparently liked to make eye contact. Toby blinked, saw it was Elliot’s face over him. He closed his eyes, lifted his chin higher, waited. Chris loved to kiss, but would Elliot? Would he kiss another man? Toby remembered he’d been married, Catholic. 

His answer came when a mouth touched his. Gentle, closed, no tongue, no teeth. A brush of lips, a surge of hips, big hands holding him down as Elliot asserted his dominance. Different. Toby gave into it, getting a leg free, wrapping it around Stabler’s back, increasing the friction. They were still dressed. He didn’t care. 

Elliot moved, relinquishing his lips, pushing hard, rubbing his erection along Toby’s side, big hands controlling their movements. Elliot worked his thighs between Toby’s legs. Toby let him push his other leg up higher, wider, a big hand behind his bent knee. Hands moved down, at his hips, dragging his pajamas lower, stopping when their position made it impossible to get them off. Elliot groaned in frustration and urgent need, levering himself up and all but ripped the offending clothing to get it out of the way. His own pants followed. 

Skin to skin, now. Toby gasped, his head falling back, his body finally taking all the way over, his erection hard enough to lift away from his belly. Elliot was back, between his legs, a hand cupping him, hesitating, finger’s instinctively following the habit of a lifetime, and seeking a hot, wet recess to fill. Toby didn’t have one of those, not exactly. Elliot encountered dry heat, swollen flesh, an erection. Nothing wet and slick to part and sink into. His moan of frustration was accompanied by a powerful thrust against Toby’s body, in the tender groove where hip met thigh, finding no way to go inside. 

Stabler thrust again. He wanted to fuck, he was crazy with need. He didn’t want to settle for a teen-aged rubbing off. 

Toby squirmed, feeling his own arousal was going to explode if they didn’t get more of something, anything going. Toby pushed ineffectually against the heavy body covering his. “Lube,” he said as he twisted and reached; he dragged the drawer open finding the jar. He fought the top off, Stabler still pushing a very hard erection into his belly, distracted, not helping. Toby dug his fingers in, got out a huge gooey scoop, heaved as hard as he could. 

The goop went on Elliot along with several strokes that had the sentinel snarling his approval, then Toby swiped the rest between his own legs, struggling to close them tightly, crossing his ankles for leverage. He guided Elliot’s cock into the space there. The sentinel thrust, groaned his satisfaction. Toby arched. It was good, the path of the hard cock over his perineum, back over his hole, hard and fast, over and over, his own cock getting more than enough stimulation between their bellies. He tensed his legs, Elliot bit into his shoulder, then his neck, not hard enough to break skin. There would be marks. His grip on Toby’s hips was going to bruise, but Toby was sure his own fingers digging into the backs of Elliot’s thighs were going to leave their own visible reminders. He didn’t care. This was too good. 

They writhed, fought, sweat pooling. Grunts and moans filled the loft. Elliot pushed harder, ramming himself in the little, tight space, the ridge of his cock sliding over the edge of his guide’s hole again and again. Toby’s hands made sure his aim stayed on target. He was a mess, sticky, greasy, hot. He wanted to throw his legs up, get what he wanted inside. Bad idea, no time. His balls were up tight against his body, ready to pop, it was killing him, waiting for Elliot. He groaned and closed his eyes. Trying to hold back. Not wanting to ruin it for the other man. 

Elliot reared up on both arms, shouting, and at last Toby felt it, the soaking pulses of heat against his ass. He let his own control go, so aroused that his semen arced high, hitting his chin and Elliot’s chest. Over and over, until Toby felt as if he’d turned inside out. Then it was over, and his arms dropped to the bed.

They collapsed in a heap, unmoving, drawing deep breaths of necessary oxygen. Elliot groaned, rolling onto his back, arm raised, hiding his eyes. Toby lay in the aftermath, just breathing. He’d had sex. They’d had sex. Sex was good. It always was. Any recriminations, any doubts could wait. He rolled over facing Elliot, but not confident enough to touch. He knew he was going to stick to the sheets, and by morning they would both be in dire need of a shower, but, at this moment, none of that mattered. He closed his eyes and fell asleep, pretending it didn’t matter that Elliot hadn’t reached out to pull him close.

tbc...


	11. Eleven

Chapter 11

The ringing phone woke Elliot. “This better be good,” he grumbled, reaching for his cell. 

“Brunch.” Ellison said, and immediately Stabler resented the interruption less at the mention of food. Propping himself up on an elbow he glanced at the bedside clock, 11:20, much later than he had thought. It was the best night’s sleep he had had for months. 

Apparently it was the same for Toby; he was stretched out long and limp, mostly on his face, hair a wild tangle above the edge of the sheets. To Elliot he looked 20 years younger without the wary tension that was always present on his features when he was awake. He watched everyone, Toby did, as if expecting an assault to come from any and every direction all the time. Prison could do that to a man. Elliot wished he had met Toby before his conviction, got to know the man he’d been before. He wondered, would they have gotten along then? Or was the only link between them that of sentinel and guide? Elliot had not been the first sentinel in Toby’s life.

Ellison’s deep voice rattled in his ear recalling him to where he was, his stomach let out a pointed growl. “Blair’s cooking. Better bring J.T...” Jim added. Elliot felt a grin steal over his face. He laughed and heard Jim echo it.

“As if I’d leave him behind..” Elliot said as he flipped the phone shut and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his bare chest. Blair cooking alone meant everything would be very good for you, absolutely healthy, but you’d be afraid to eat it after you looked at it. J. T.’s taste was a little more conventional. And Elliot didn’t do twig and berry salad for breakfast, he hoped it wasn’t on the brunch menu either. 

“Hey sleepy head,” Elliot called. He give the snoring guide a gentle shake, letting his hand linger on J.T’s shoulder, soaking up the contact, only just resisting the temptation to dive back under the covers and rub up against the drowsing warmth. “Time to get up. Showers then brunch at Jim’s; we slept in this morning.” He tossed his phone towards the bedside table, heading for the shower. The sheet dragged after him, stuck to his abdomen. He winced, gently peeling it free without losing any skin or much hair. Definitely need clean sheets tonight. He just hoped there were some.

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The guarded look of relief on Jim’s face when he let them in had Stabler fighting a smile. He gave J.T. a nudge toward the kitchen and the guide went willingly enough, while Elliot and Jim headed towards the carafe of black coffee on the dining room table. Just the smell had him drooling. He’d drink bad coffee if he had to, but good coffee was a hell of a lot better. Coffee that smelled like this, the best. For a minute he wondered if Blair had somehow talked Banks out of some of his closely guarded gourmet blend. Both sentinels inhaled appreciatively, filled their mugs and took sips, the fragrant steam misting up into their faces.

The two sentinels migrated towards the large sectional couch dominating the living room area of the apartment. It was Saturday, just before noon. That meant college football. Elliot politely resisted fighting his host for the remote. Two minutes and they were watching Texas A&M at Arkansas. 

“Maybe having you over for brunch wasn’t the right call,” Jim whispered in a voice too low for the guides to hear. “If you two need more alone time you could have said so.” His grey blue eyes never left the television screen.

Elliot had absolutely no control over the deep red flush that rushed upwards from his collar until it covered his face. He made a noise that had Jim turning towards him. Elliot took a sip of the coffee, buying time. Carefully not making eye contact he whispered back, “We are not talking about that. Ever.”

“Blair’s going to figure it out.” Jim said softly before sipping his own coffee. Elliot grew redder. There was no way to keep Blair from asking if he thought it had happened, unless he smothered Jim’s guide with a pillow.

“It’s that obvious?” He whispered back, a note of panic creeping in to his voice. No way was Jim going to let him get a pillow close to Blair. And Blair, well he didn’t always seem to think before he spoke, which meant that Stabler could be at work, in a room full of other cops when Blair brought it up, blurted out something so fucking embarrassing that Stabler would have to sneak into the precinct for months, until some other scandal grabbed the other cops’ attention. He fought down his panic at that thought. “I guess my shower wasn’t as good as I thought.”

“It’s not your scent,” Jim said. “It’s your body language. Both of you are...not so uptight.” Meaning they looked like they got some. Elliot nearly groaned. Cops, detectives in particular, were trained investigators. They’d notice, too. 

They watched the game for a while before Jim spoke again. “I can barely smell you both had a great time,” he said, hiding his smile behind his mug. Elliot finally turned and glared pointedly at the other man. 

“Not another word.” Elliot warned. He wasn’t ready to think about what they’d done in any kind of detail. He wasn’t ready to talk to J.T. about it let alone his work partner, or Blair, or in public. Maybe it would be funny someday, but that day was not today. Not the morning after the first time he’d touched another man, and had sex with him. A man who it turned out, knew a hell of a lot more about gay sex than he did, a fact which he’d enjoyed without wanting to think about it.

“Don’t worry,” Jim said giving his voice a low, serious note. “Blair and I will keep your secret, but if you or J.T. need to talk, we’re here.” Jim took a deeper sip of his coffee, “ Wasn’t that long ago it was my first time. And if you tell anyone else that, I’ll wring your neck.”

“Understood.” Elliot said, gaze still fixed on the TV. Knowing that made it a little better and that was what Jim had intended, to make it better. It was just that he’d been happily married to a woman and hadn’t really considered any alternatives. Being with a male guide, was pretty gay, no matter the physiological excuses he’d heard used by other sentinels. Many cops kept their two preferences as separate a possible, claiming heterosexuality no matter the gender of their guide. Most sentinels married, not learning how hard it was to make a marriage and a bond work at the same time until faced with a divorce. “Thanks,” Elliot said with a nod of his head. They concentrated on the game, finding a few plays to grumble about, a ref to heckle. 

“Jesus, something smells good.” Jim said a few minutes later. Then louder he asked, “breakfast ready yet?” Elliot felt saliva fill his mouth. Jim was right, it smelled great.

“Ten minutes.” Blair answered back. “Can you set the table?”

“Set the table?” The two sentinels looked at each other in dismay. Then they spoke at once. “The game!” Two hands gestured toward the large flat screen TV. Two faces wore an identical pout. 

“It’s Texas at Arkansas!” Jim added plaintively.

“Fine, you two eat there, J.T and I will eat at the table.” Blair said, rolling his eyes, trying not to laugh. He reached up for plates and started filling two with fat vegetable omelets, cut fruit, turkey bacon and homemade hot honey-buttered biscuits. Jim had been successfully weaned off the higher fat variety of bacon for a while now. He’d balked at the vegan substitute Blair had offered, commenting it smelled awful, more like a chemistry accident and definitely not natural. Blair had given up that fight after one look at his sentinel’s face, Jim wasn’t going to budge on textured vegetable protein as a replacement for meat. Blair knew when to give up. 

“Do you think you two can pull yourself away from the game long enough to set up your own T.V. trays and come get your plates?”

“Just give us a couple of minutes,” Jim answered, automatically, not moving from his place on the couch, gaze fixed on the screen.

“If you let this food get cold,” Blair called back, “I swear you’ll be wearing it instead of eating it.”

Toby and Blair smiled at each other as they heard Jim jump up off of his comfy perch to set up the trays.

“He means it,” Jim whispered to Elliot as he handed him a folded tray. “Blair can get a little...testy... if I don’t show his cooking... proper appreciation.”

“I guess that’s one mistake you won't make a second time,” Elliot said with a smile. His wife had been pretty much the same, and he’d swear, she’d been less tolerant of being a football widow than Blair.

“Blair’s good at making sure I learn from my mistakes,” Jim said, as the two sentinels headed for the kitchen to pick up their heaping plates of hot food.

@@@@@@

Blair heard Jim and Elliot shouting about a big play in the game and thought this was as much privacy as he and J.T. were going to get with the two other men distracted, so he took a deep breath, bumped the other guide’s arm, deciding not to beat around the bush and just asked, “Do you need to talk about it?”

J.T. looked into his friend’s eyes, then averted his gaze. He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to talk about it. He shoveled another bite into his mouth, chewing vigorously, making it plain he wouldn’t talk about it. 

“It’s pretty obvious things are different,” Blair said, drawing Toby’s attention back to here and now. “You both look like something happened. You look better.” He scooped up a forkful of eggs and vegetables. He chewed the mouthful while waiting for J.T. to respond. 

J.T. picked up his coffee mug in both hands; he looked down into it as he swirled what was left of the brown liquid and spoke. “It’s fine,” he said. “This is good.” J.T. scanned Blair’s face momentarily. “Good coffee.”

Blair could see a deep sadness, a wariness in his eyes, before it was masked. He reached across the table and laid his hand on his friend’s arm, hoping his touch would give comfort. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” Blair said, “Elliot knows it.” A sentinel didn’t have time for a normal life. But that didn’t mean none of them tried to have more. Often it ended badly, with hurt feelings and divorce.

“I’m not sure this is working.” J.T. said, relenting for a moment from his silent status . Blair blinked. The one thing a sentinel put before territory was his guide. It was a hierarchy that was undisputed. Guide, clan, territory. A personal family was fourth at best.

“Why would you say that?” Blair asked, concerned that something had gone terribly wrong. Elliott had been pressured to make the choice to bond J.T., maybe they were still trying to find a way to cope with each other. And J.T. might not understand that settling in took time, that making a change with such profound consequences wasn’t easy or straightforward. It took hard work and time.

J.T. shrugged. “Forget it,” he said wondering why he had voices his concern; it was a mistake, but Blair was a very good guide who inspired trust. J.T. stirred sugar into his newly poured coffee; he would have to be more careful and not let Blair’s friendly demeanor get to him. After all how well did he know the man on a personal level, not well at all. Prison had brought home the lesson well, trust no one.

“Look,” Blair said, “sentinels are pretty thick headed at times. They just don’t know how to handle emotional situations, a lot of what they do is instinct based. That’s why they need a guide in the first place, if you let them, they will just go, go, go until they drop. Or zone. You’re going to have to tell Elliot what you need. It’s not personal; I went through the same thing with Jim, hell we are still going through it.” He paused for a moment then continued, “you two belong together.”

Blair met Toby’s eyes. They held the look. Then Toby’s eyes slid down and away. 

“What?” Blair asked. “I read what is available on Chris Keller, your first sentinel. I know it wasn’t easy for you, or for him. I’m sorry you lost him, and that you had to find each other in prison. This bond with Elliott can be better. He is a good man from everything I can tell. Give the bond a chance.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” J.T. said, perfectly calm. “I’m fine.”

“Toby,” Blair said, “that sounds like you think Elliot isn’t giving it a chance.” His concern showing in his voice. Elliott couldn’t have refused a direct request from his guide; they had clearly been together, but something was wrong. If Toby was trying to strengthen the bond and Elliot refusing that was a huge problem. Blair opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted before he could say a thing.

“Looks like Arkansas is winning.” J.T. said, his attention fixed on the screen past the couch. 

It was a moment before Blair remembered the game. He smiled as much as he could. Toby was making it clear he wasn’t ready to talk. Blair had learned the hard way not to force this kind of thing. He looked over at the TV. J.T. stood and carried his plate over to the couch, sitting on the arm next to Elliott. He ate mechanically until his plate was clean.

The conversation, such as it was, was over. That message was perfectly clear.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Captain Simon Banks hung up the phone and pushed his fingers under his glasses to pinch and rub at the bridge of his nose. The beginnings of a headache threatened to morph into a full blown migraine and there was no possibility of his going home, taking a pill and crawling into bed in a dark, silent room. He looked down at the note he’d scrawled in his indecipherable handwriting. Nothing but more bad news for the team. His team.

Cecily Amber Gerson was missing for five days now. It was confirmed by a note sent to her father, Ambassador Gerson, that his 11 year old daughter was in the hands of traffickers who were demanding a ransom, and that the police pull back for 48 hours. Presumably to allow the kidnappers time to flee with their assets. Ambassador and Mrs. Gerson were frantic, and insisted that the instructions be followed to the letter. 

Simon thought back to the kidnappings he’d been involved in. Adults and children, few recovered, none unharmed. He knew what that type of experience did to a child. Cecily had years of counseling ahead of her, if they found her alive. Far too many victims never made it home. 

Having sentinels in his department saw an increase in the recovery rate. But it did not approach 100%, or even 80%. Of the 46 cases Banks had seen in the last decade 23 made it home. None unscathed. Kidnappers were not nice people as a rule. Even with money in hand they weren’t careful of their prey. Children were abused, women tortured, men killed or maimed to satisfy appetites that Simon found it impossible to understand. 

He’d done his time in the service, missing Vietnam by a few years, he’d also missed the Middle East conflict by the same margin. The stories of war atrocities were the best parallel he discovered to compare kidnappers to. Rationality had no place in dealing with them. Ellison’s team was getting close. They’d have to move fast. Cecily Gerson now had less than two days to live. Simon tried not to think about the other children who were being held and what their fates were. 

Ellison’s military experience was more recent than Simon’s own. Banks had not been special forces let alone Black Ops. Ellison avoided conversations that included his service career, but the little Simon had uncovered made his hair stand on end. Jim had seen it all. He’d been called on by his country to do their darkest deeds. There were untold numbers of men who’d fallen to his knives, guns and bare hands. If there had been women, or children, Simon didn’t want to know about it. Jim Ellison was a moral man. Simon knew this in the core of his being. 

Ellison was going to go out there and find this little girl and save her. Banks believed that, he had to. He’d seen Jim do it time and again. Elliot Stabler had four children, and worked Special Victims Unit in New York. There wasn’t a better partner to pair Ellison with. Two sentinels didn’t always find a way to work together. Usually dominance was an issue, but in this case, despite both men being alpha males, Stabler backed down and followed Ellison’s lead. Except when he didn’t. But strangely, Ellison seemed fine with that. The sentinels seemed to have an unpublished rulebook, understood by each other and their guides alone. Simon was just happy it worked. 

Simon was pleased to find someone Ellison could work with. Blair and J.T., the two guides that kept the sentinels on relatively short and sane leashes were just frosting on the cake. At first it had troubled Simon to see the relationships develop so quickly. The four didn’t spend much time talking, except for Blair. Blair also seemed overly sensitive to the kind of evidence Major Crimes dealt with on a daily basis. But instead of the sharply critical and rough humor other detectives treated each other with, that kind of teasing was clearly off limits when it came to the guides. J.T. was stone faced much of the time, but Blair too often wore his emotions on his face. Excitement, fascination, worry, or horror. 

Ellison was there, a wall between his guide and the worst that happened. Stabler, surprisingly took Jim’s place with Blair if Ellison was not around. Simon had been stunned when he saw that happen. Jim growled about it, but no bloody fights ensued. J.T. seemed to need less protection from the facts of the case, but he got an identical level of attention and careful observation from the sentinels. They acted as a team, and Simon quickly decided to be grateful instead of try to figure out how the hell it had happened.

Now he had a final piece of the puzzle to fit in their trafficking case. Mrs. Gerson had put one of her daughter’s favorite stuffed animals in a sealed evidence pouch. Cecily slept with that bear for the last three years. It smelled of her. The pouch was on it’s way to the Cascade P.D., and would be brought immediately on arrival to Major Crimes. Ellison and Stabler would be the only two officers to access the bear. Then they would track the child by her scent. If she was in Cascade, if there was any hope of finding her, of breaking the trafficking ring, this was their best chance. 

tbc...


	12. Twelve

Chapter 12

Walt Reinenger eased behind the dark blue van and waited for his target to come into view. One look wasn’t enough to be absolutely sure he’d found Beecher, the knitted cap and scarf hid a lot, he’d brought binocs with him this time, hoping to get a better look. Secreted in the binoculars was a surveillance camera that would provide a super hi-res photograph, if he could get a good picture it wouldn’t hurt. Then he would know if he truly had his target within reach. He’d been expecting to have to find an excuse to go into the Cop Shop, but it looked like his target was coming to him. Carefully he opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat. He closed the door, neither too loudly, nor too quietly. 

For once he was actually hopeful. That idiot, Gunther, seemed to have stumbled across the real deal. Walt was pretty sure it was the weasel Tobias Beecher, the scumbag lawyer who’d killed Schillinger in the joint. How the little fuck had made it out of Oz, escaping from Aryan vengeance, was a complete fucking mystery. Probably bribed the C.O.s for protection. Or handed out blow jobs like the faggot he was. Just thinking about the prison bitch alive made Walt see red.

Walt wasn’t going to let that injustice stand. He was going to confirm the Cascade prick was Beecher, then Beecher would get what was coming to him. And he’d suffer before he died. 

Reinenger wanted to know what business Beecher had with the Cascade PD, because he knew cops when he saw them. The two taller men had cop written all over them. The little guy with all the hair wasn’t a cop. The four of them together reminded Walt of a double date. But maybe it only appeared that way, maybe Beecher was ratting for the cops. If the bastard was interfering with the local Aryan group they needed a heads up. It didn’t matter if there was a little collateral damage to add to the reprisal, a dead cop was a good cop as far as the brotherhood was concerned. Sending a warning to all the other stupid freaks who thought they could get away with moving against the Brotherhood just because they were being protected by law enforcement. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

As soon as he stepped out from behind the doors of the PD and out onto the slushy sidewalk, Stabler felt as if his skin wanted to crawl off his body, he barely kept his hand from rubbing at the vulnerable nape of his neck. He would swear there was a bull’s-eye painted right there, and he wasn’t sure why. He could almost feel the telescopic lens zeroed in on the base of his skull. A few quick scans of the area hadn’t revealed anything out of the ordinary, but he couldn’t shake an overwhelming urge to prowl like a territorial animal, warning off those who intruded. He wanted to hunch his shoulders up and find a bulletproof shelter. Stepping in front of J.T., blocking his guide from the view of spying eyes from the street helped for about three minutes. Then when they’d gotten past the first alleyway, Elliot’s skin ruffled unpleasantly again, he rapidly changed his position, putting J.T. closer to the building, away from the street and traffic. 

Stabler looked around, only half aware he was silently snarling, showing his teeth, glaring at anyone who came near. Delivery vans were parked in the loading zones, shoppers walked the street. Nothing looked out of place, but he didn’t feel better until he moved around and pushed up behind J.T. shielding him from behind this time. J.T. looked at him strangely, saying nothing, obeying the sentinel’s nudge to walk faster. Stabler’s hand moved, coming to rest on his gun, the other hand grabbed J.T.’s belt in an iron grip allowing him to control his guide’s movement. He unsnapped his holster, palm fitting perfectly along the butt of the gun prepared to draw at a moment’s notice. Jim’s head came up at the tiny sound of the holster-strap being released.

Blair chatted on, about some primitive tribe in Peru, gesturing to illustrate his words. Jim picked up on Stabler’s distressed state of mind. Smoothly, Ellison grabbed Blair’s elbow, moving him around the boxes of fruit and vegetables lining this part of the sidewalk, pushing Blair behind him so that he walked point and the guides were sandwiched between him and Stabler. Each of the dozen street vendors and the milling customers got a piercing stare. He too put his hand on his gun. 

Elliot tuned Blair’s words out, but kept part of his senses focused on the curly headed guide. Blair was part of his tribe, too. And whatever it was out there, it was threatening the tribe. He hurried them ahead faster, restless. 

It was being pushed behind Jim that made Blair finally clue in on the increase of tension coming from the sentinels. “What is it?” he asked, nearly running into J.T. and stumbling to a stop.

Jim pushed him along, eyes never ceasing to sweep the street looking for signs of trouble. “Feels like someone unfriendly has eyes on us. We need to get you to cover.” Jim answered in his low sentinel-toned voice. The precinct was close, but to go back would let the watcher know he’d been made. There were other alternatives that wouldn’t reveal as much. Quickly Ellison made his decision.

Blair didn’t have to be told the situation was serious, Jim’s nostrils were flared, seeking every bit of available scent from the chilled, smoggy air. Blair looked over at J.T. putting out a hand and grasping the sleeve of the other guide’s coat. “Stay close, and if Elliot tells you to do something do it!” 

J.T. nodded at Blair’s instructions; his own eyes scanned the street searching for the danger. They moved closer together, one mashed together silhouette locked in step, more alert, more aware, ready to run, or duck. Blair’s hand slipped down to wrap itself around J.T.’s, warm even through their gloves. 

J.T. made no protest; he hated this. He hated not feeling safe. He hated feeling hunted. There had been enough of that in prison. He wanted a knife, a gun, and something he could shoot at or stab and something to hide behind. A shield not flesh, nothing that could be injured or bleed. A target making itself known would be very welcome, but not this feeling of hidden threat that was agitating the sentinels. As it was Jim and Elliott were tense, hyper alert, and moving them as a tight knit group fast down the street and into a building that J.T. belatedly noticed from the lurid orange, red and black sign, was a Chinese food restaurant. He jumped when a man’s voice spoke from mere inches behind him.

“Sentinel Ellison?” The man was tall, on a level with Jim’s height. He had very dark hair, light brown skin, and almond shaped eyes in a wide cheeked face. 

“Get them to the safe room.” Ellison ordered, and the younger Asian sentinel nodded, herding the   
guides away without voicing any of the questions that filled his eyes, his own attention focused on the surroundings and scanning for immediate threats. 

Stabler and Ellison looked at each other, no words were needed, just a nod of agreement and they headed back out the door leaving J.T. and Blair behind.

“Hey!” Blair was not happy, he craned his head back over his shoulder, looking after his rapidly disappearing partner. “Jim!” But the sentinel given charge of their safety was not to be swayed. They were escorted along the back of the teeming restaurant filled with a crowd of lunch patrons gobbling up the steaming, spicy food put in front of them, and up a narrow stair. A second and a third man met them on the way, alike enough to the first man that they could only be brothers.

“Do you know these guys, Blair?” J.T. asked, keeping his voice down, but not bothering to whisper. He didn’t like being separated from Ellison and Stabler. It felt wrong. Anxiety started to build, and he took a shuddering breath to try and get control.

“Yes,” Blair answered, “We can trust them. They’re part of Jim’s Cascade Sentinel Tribe. They won’t let anything happen to us.”

“If the Aryans are out there...they’ll shoot first and worry about the consequences later.” J.T. said, suppressing a bone deep shudder, “They have no problem with killing anyone that isn’t white and anyone not in sympathy with their views. I don’t want anyone put in that position because of me. This may not be the best place for us to be.” 

The three sentinels now escorting them up the stairs were all younger than they were. One was barely more than a kid. “They would have to get through Detectives Ellison and Stabler and the other sentinels first,” the youngest sentinel said, “please do not concern yourself. The Prime is a seasoned fighter. The tribe protects what is ours.” The young man spoke directly to them, having easily overheard the whispering guides. 

“And if Aryans are starting this fight, we will finish it.” His brother added, “we will protect our territory. You’re guides, you will always be ours to protect. Please stay away from the windows and stay quiet.” The room was dark. lit only by a few night-lights plugged in near floor level. There were cushions on the floor. Heavy boards lined the walls, and something told J.T. that the bolts holding the boards in place went through metal plating behind the wood as well. 

J.T. blinked at the tone of command coming from a sentinel at least 15 years, and maybe closer to 20 years, his junior. It seemed that just being a sentinel could make a man bossy. He let the young man’s hand ease him down onto the cushions and offer him a glass of tea. Blair had already removed his gloves and seemed to be patiently waiting.

 

Out in the street Reinenger swore. He couldn’t get a good look at Beecher. The three men with him were closed around him like flower petals around a honeybee. It looked like they were going in to get some chink food so all he had to do was wait for them to come out. He scowled and lit a cigarette as he settled back into his seat. That’s when he saw the two men leave, and that changed the game. That meant the Beecher was in there alone with the curly haired guy. He couldn’t see the Asian sentinels who took up guard outside the saferoom door, but he knew the game had changed. Somehow his surveillance had been spotted.

This is good, he thought as a wicked grin replaced his frown. While the cops were hunting for him out front where he had been, he could circle around and get in through the back of the building and find Beecher. All these old Cascade businesses had alleyways with back entrances, and aside from trash cans and an occasional bored smoker they were unpopulated. 

Reinenger slid out of his truck slamming the door and began picking his way down the street, keeping his head down and eyes on the fruits and vegetables that lined the sidewalk. He bought a bag of apples, knowing the three minutes that took would divert any suspicions if eyes were on him.

Reinenger gave it a few extra cross streets before he stepped into a crosswalk and lost himself in the crowd of late morning shoppers. With his collar pulled up against the wind, he blended with the others, just another nondescript man looking for lunch. He kept his pace quick, like a man eager to get out of the cold. He passed into the alley at the back of the brick building. It was empty, he recognized that as good luck and hurried towards the gaping back entrance. He dropped the bag of apples into the open top of a dumpster he was passing.

Ellison stopped, Stabler a foot behind him. They both felt it when their quarry stopped watching them. A thick stream of people were walking down the street away from downtown. Chances were if the man had figured out he’d been spotted he would go that way, planning on losing himself in the crowd. 

 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

It was all there, laid out in front of them. Lingering foot prints, heat signatures where the crowd had walked over the cold cement. Hundreds of prints as they followed across the street. And one set of boot prints that veered off to the right, down an alley. The back of the restaurant was two blocks down. Why would anyone need to cut down the alley that held nothing but refuse bins and empty boxes waiting for garbage pick up? 

Silently both sentinels turned down the same track. Jim drew in a deep breath. There was a scent, fresh apples, that didn’t belong. His memory rewound, until he stopped on the image of a slim, bundled man buying a bag of apples then disappearing into the mass of people. Now he smelled apples. The bag was in the second dumpster he checked. Two doors down from the back of the Chinese Lantern Restaurant. He and Elliot exchanged grim looks. Whoever had been watching them knew the guides were in the restaurant. 

Moving fast they headed towards the place where they’d left their guides. Maybe not a place of safety after all, but at least it was a place run by sentinels. Sentinels who would protect the guides as Jim and Elliot hunted down the interloper stalking them. 

They were fast, each covering for the other automatically, falling back on military training and pure instinct. Pushing forward, cat and mousing up the alley as fast as it was safe, check all the hiding places. Don’t waste time; get to the guides. Trap the hunter who hunted, turn the predator in their city into prey. It was what these sentinels did. 

Two shadows followed the footprints, right to the back door, inside. He was there, off to one side, hidden behind a screen, looking out into the dining area. Blond, muscular, and wrong, wrong, wrong. He didn’t belong. His eyes were hunting for someone and didn’t find them among the seated, they saw his gaze move to the stairs, only seconds to redirect his search. The man went for the stairs. The sentinels followed. He was good. He was fast, careful not to attract attention. They were faster. 

It wasn’t a sound that made him turn at the top of the stair and look down. It might have been instinct or habit, checking his trail for followers. But he turned, he looked and he looked right into Jim Ellison’s narrowed gaze. Elliot raised his gun. Two more sentinels stepped in the hallway at the top of the stairs, guns leveled. Ellison barked out for the intruder to freeze. 

“Hey,” the intruder said, ”just looking for the men’s room.” He raised his hands, leaving the gun in his deep pocket. It was worth a try but he saw at once they didn’t believe him, weren’t going to give him a chance to get his hand on his gun again. He froze, pretending he was shocked and not going to move. 

He had no choice, if he was going to get out of there he had to move now, before they reached him; he jumped, crashing through the window next to the stairs. They ran up after him.

He was already up when they looked out, fleeing down the alley and even as they watched, debating whether to give chase, he vanished back into the throngs of lunchtime workers. 

“Fuck.” It wasn’t often Elliot swore. But he didn’t like that the man was out there still. The often drilled priorities of a cop had kept him from emptying his gun into the man as he fled, but it failed to stop him wishing he’d done it. Ellison slammed his fist into the wall, frustration coloring his scent, sharp and bitter. Then as one they turned and headed further up the stairs. The other sentinels parted, letting them through.

Blair saw them first as they entered the room. The other sentinels in the room moved out of the way, letting the Prime and his Second walk up to their guides. Both needed to be sure the men were safe. The examination, visual and tactile was rapid. The guides made no protest. The sentinels waiting outside politely averted their eyes. The exam was brief.

Chairs were slid out for them to sit at the table, tea was brought, food. The sentinels who had watched closed the door and left them alone to regroup. 

“Who was it? Did you know him?” Blair asked as he reached for the small white cup of Jasmine tea. “One of the human traffickers? How did they find out?”

“I don’t know.” Ellison replied, still concentrating on his guide, ignoring the fragrant food and drink in favor of re-examining Blair. Blair obediently sat still as Jim carded fingers through his hair looking for any concealed bumps or bruises. 

“If you got a good look” Toby said, “you could work with a sketch artist and put it through facial recognition. We could get a hit. Did you notice any Aryan tats? He may have been hired by the traffickers, or he could be looking for me. Might not have anything to do with the case.”

“Didn’t see any tats.” Elliott said, “but that doesn’t mean anything. He was wearing a jacket and long pants, boots, and he stunk of cigarette smoke.”

“If we pick up that scent again,”Jim added, “we’ll know it”.

“I don’t think the guy knew we were sentinels,” Elliott said. “Look at the way he was acting. Any perp in his right mind would have gotten the hell out of Dodge when he saw us come out of the restaurant without our guides.”

“That means he’s not local.” Jim said, “All the thugs in Cascade know who I am. You’re right, Elliott, no one who knew we were sentinels would have tried to hunt down our guides.”

“If you’re right,” J.T.said, “but if it was the Aryans, he wasn’t hunting Blair, he was hunting me and anyone who gets in his way will be collateral damage. This is the second time I’ve been outed while in Witness Protection.”

Jim stood up, “he was hunting a guide in my tribe, he is about to find out what a world of hurt he’s just unleashed on himself. Let’s get back to the precinct. We’ll look through the Aryan mug shots and see if he is in the registry; if not we’ll get that sketch drawn up. I want every sentinel in Cascade focused of finding this SOB before the sun sets.” 

 

tbc...


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Had two surgeries on right arm. Typing is a challenge, even more now than before. Sigh.

Chapter 13

The triple sealed evidence bag arrived by legal courier and was taken directly to up Major Crimes by an eager young cadet who managed to beat out the other two cadets working the front desk. It was all she could do to contain her excitement until the elevator arrived at the third floor. She looked through the doorway and into the sacred ground of the Major Crimes bullpen where the best detectives in Cascade worked, the men and women with the most enviable solve rates. 

These detectives were the law enforcement heros all the cadets looked up to and wanted to emulate. There was talk among many of them, boastings of almost-confidence, and whisperings of dreams of ending up as one of the detectives who worked for Captain Banks, and especially with Detective Ellison, the sentinel. 

Grumblings still persisted among the more experienced officers that an outsider from New York had swooped in and taken the partnership Cascade officers had worked for and wanted. Sure Ellison had a reputation as an impatient, tenacious son of a bitch, but he had mellowed some since Blair arrived on scene, to the point of actually taking a partner. Still, he suffered no fools, and he solved cases, lots of cases. 

A partnership with Ellison would have given any detective an enviable position within the ranks and a chance to significantly better their record. Now there were two sentinels in the elite unit and they were partnered, which more than one officer thought was a waste of resources. Some detectives in the department kept an eye out for any hint that the two were not getting along, sentinels were, after all, territorial as well as often aggressive and the new guy Stabler was from across the country, not local. There was also a rumor that Stabler had tried to lure Ellison’s guide away from him. But the clash of east-coast/west-coast cultures and alpha personalities didn’t seem to be worsening. 

Ellison and Stabler had closed ranks hard around their current child trafficking case. Anyone with half a brain knew that you didn’t mess with children or guides in any alpha sentinel’s territory. The case was bringing out the protective, territorial side of Ellison. The good news was the child trafficking bastards didn’t stand a chance; it was only a matter of time before they’d be caught and brought to justice, mundane justice if they were lucky, sentinel justice if they weren’t. The bad news for the detectives hoping to make their own sentinel/mundane partnership was that this case would most likely solidly bond Ellison and Stabler and what had been two chances to partner with a sentinel would drop to a big fat zero.

Carrie wasn’t thinking of the internal politics when she knocked on the glass pane next to the door to the ‘pen. A lone woman looked up from her desk, she was tall and her wild red hair stood on end, clearly disarrayed by her nervous habit of running her hands through it when faced with a particularly difficult problem. A detective’s badge was clipped to her belt. The cadet got a hastily scratched signature from her then left the package and departed, disappointed that she wouldn’t have anything to tell the other cadets, no encounters with either sentinel, especially no Detective Ellison. Carrie dragged her feet all the way back down to the front desk.

Megan dropped the sealed bag on Ellison and Sandy’s shared desk. Sandburg was expecting a text when the package arrived, and Megan tapped it out, then went back to her own paperwork. Soon both hands were buried in her hair again tugging it up into new tufts as she went over the details of the most frustrating case she’d had in a while. On top of that, it was dull, dull, dull. She’d never like dealing with fraud cases. Following the money bored the crap out of her, give her some action any day!

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Blair reached the evidence bag first when the four of them got back from lunch, he bounded up to the desk and seized it. Ellison plucked the bag out of his hands before the guide could examine the contents, reading the label then nodding with satisfaction. Calling Stabler over, Jim fished out his pocket knife, after a quick but thorough scan for telltale hazards or surprises. When the pouch proved completely harmless to all of his and Elliot’s senses, Ellison slit the seals and found himself looking at a stuffed brown bear, obviously well cared for and much loved. The sweet scent of a young child wafted up out of the bag, coming off of the little, brown button-eyed furry animal. 

Blair leaned into Jim’s side, he swallowed hard, blinking. A child was missing. This was just another reminder that they needed to move fast. 

Megan’s innate curiosity had not allowed her to remain at her desk when the package was opened. She looked in the pouch and saw the bear, immediately understanding what it meant. She stepped in closer and put a hand on Blair’s shoulder. The fine tremors of upset were easy to feel through layers of the flannel and T-shirts. She squeezed soothingly. 

“Sorry, Sandy.” He turned and looked up at her, a few inches shorter than she was. The distress in the large, deep blue eyes communicated itself so clearly she caught her breath. The guide swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, tongue coming out to moisten dry lips. Then he turned resolutely back towards the sentinels. Megan saw JT had placed a hand on Stabler’s back. The detective had a thunderous look on his face. Megan almost felt sorry for the traffickers. Almost. 

“Jim will find her.” Blair whispered with absolute conviction. She nodded. Ellison would move heaven and earth to find this child and the other victims, Megan knew. And not only because there were kids being abused, needing his help. The sentinel would do it for his guide. A man who felt all the pains of the world so deeply, who Ellison, in only a few short months, was utterly devoted to.

“He will.” Megan pulled Blair into a hug as she agreed with Blair. Maybe someday she would have a partner or a lover who felt that way about her. 

@@@@@@@@@@@@

Simon of course had to be notified before they could set up the operation to use the teddy bear to track its young owner and her captors down. Aside from that Ellison thought it best no one outside of the actual operation members knew anything. Tension and excitement built as the minutes ticked by. Stabler and Ellison shared a look, then both men moved closer to their guides, soaking up their balancing company.

Blair moved easily into Jim’s personal space winding his arms around Jim’s waist, he’d never been self-conscious about touching, not even another man in public. Affection was never something to be ashamed of. 

JT was a little more private, and while he understood the need, he wished they could go to one of the guide and sentinel friendly rooms out of the way of prying eyes. Elliot slid his hand up until it cupped the back of his guide’s neck. Then, slowly, giving JT time to adjust, he brought him close, until they stood pressed loosely together, Elliot’s nose buried behind JT’s ear, tickled by the curly blond hair. The scent was strong and Elliot relished it. Jim moved a little, so he and Blair shielded JT from the view outside of the bullpen. He knew the other guide wasn’t comfortable in this fishbowl, that rightly or wrongly he thought there were always eyes on him. 

Stabler noticed the instinctive move by his partner to provide comfort and shelter. It was the kind of action that was evidence of a true bond between the prime and himself. Jim’s awareness went beyond his own guide, to that of his sentinel partner and his partner’s guide. He felt a wave of pure gratitude. Not so long ago Elliot had nothing much. A ruined life, a wife who feared him, four kids who he couldn’t see. Now he had the beginnings of a new family and hope that there were even more good things ahead. 

The ability to crossbond without constant friction was common to sentinel primes and a limited few alpha sentinels. It was part of what made them leaders, the ability to command loyalty is other dominant sentinels. It also explained why Ellison had been a more hands off leader in the Cascade territory before Stabler’s arrival. Bonding with a guide was crucial to a Sentinel Prime’s full range of functioning; when Stabler arrived and proved to be a compatible second, Jim’s drive to be the Prime in Cascade was fully triggered. Now, their first major case together was putting the partnership to the test. There was no room for error. 

They went about making plans for the night unobtrusively. It was not only possible, but probable that the traffickers would have eyes and ears in the police department. There was big money involved, selling kids paid exceptionally well, and the scumbags who were running the ring could afford big bribes, the kind that made men on the edge, even officers, take that final step over the line for the right payday. The kind of burnt-out, greedy officer that Jim would like to sniff out and see brought to justice right alongside the human smugglers. If only evil had an individual scent the sentinels could track down. There was no room in his city, his territory, his police station, for men or women like that.

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They met at the port in dark, casual clothing. Simon, H and Rafe were acting as the first line back up in the big van, they would wait for the sentinels to give word, then they’d descend on the criminals. The SWAT team was standing by waiting for Simon’s call when the sentinels identified the address. They had been told they would be going on a routine night exercise to avoid any possible leak, and no communications were allowed until the op was over. No one wanted the word to spread too soon, giving an early warning. Not until the hook was set and arrests were imminent. It was chilly at the early hour near the water, and the usual fog had thickened. Even at 4am there were a few men here loading and unloading ships, so they found themselves a deeply shadowed and remote building, it was the perfect place to set up base camp. 

Headsets and earwigs would be their closed communication line. The big van laden with electronics would muffle the sound of men speaking. The sentinels in the field of course would be able to hear the radio responses with the volume on their headsets turned down so low no non-sentinel stood a chance of eavesdropping. The tiny earwigs and mics were in place. It was now or never.

Jim and Elliot stepped out onto the tarmac, Blair and JT were staying behind in the truck, safe. Both sentinels had been adamant, the guides just as vocally opposed to the arrangement. Both sentinels argued that, in this case, concern with the safety of their guides would prove a hindrance during the op. Working together the sentinels would keep each other from falling into a zone. Sentinels had been trackers for thousands of years. The guide bond would protect them even from a considerable distance. The bond itself rather than proximity would be their safety net.

They shared the evidence bag between them, each sniffing the bear one more time, tasting fingers after brushing them across artificial fur, letting the mingled scents, all of them, sink into their consciousness, into their brains, memorized, never to be forgotten. Extraneous scents were cataloged and eliminated, the faint plastic smell of the bag, the wharf, the sea, diesel fumes hanging in the still air, until they’d agreed on the one scent that mattered, fixed it into their brains. The resealed bag was passed back up into the van, the door closed, secured. Elliot and Jim were alone in the dark.

Elliot shook his body, relaxing his shoulders, hands checking his weapons with competent familiarity, Jim made another visual scan of the area. They both inhaled deeply and started to move at an easy lope, the soles of their shoes making little noise. They were both fit and fast, two similar shadows making their way quickly through the gloom, the same height, the same width the same intensity of eye. 

The next block over, out of the sight of the big van, two more sentinels stepped out of the dark and joined them, silently acknowledging their Prime and his second. Both the new men had plenty of practice doing this kind of thing, Jim had hunted human prey with the pair before. Each had served in the armed forces for a cumulative 23 years. Together the group jogged on, keeping to the shadows, silent and swift. 

The scent trace was old nearest the water. Its very faint lingering tendril demanded all the concentration Ellison and Stabler could give it. The role of the sentinels accompanying them was protection. Jim and Elliot would be so immersed in following the elusive trail that they might miss a threat until it was right on top of them. Ben and Jake wouldn’t let a threat get to them while they chased down the target scent. Putting 100% awareness on one sense was risky. This was the best way to avert disaster. 

Simon, if he found out Jim was using non-police personnel, was going to be pissed. But that couldn’t be helped. Explaining too much about how sentinels worked, putting that kind of information out there for unsavory characters to hear and use when planning illegal operations wasn’t going to happen in Jim’s city. Other territory leaders felt the same, and the agreement had been reached a few decades back. There was info about sentinels that was never going to be shared outside of the packs. Even within a pack there were levels of sentinels and guides in the know. Jim of course knew all the capabilities of the members of his pack. He was gradually sharing those details with Elliot. 

Now that Jim had a guide, he was becoming more involved in formalizing ties within his territory and pack. Elliot was his natural second. Below that was another level of very high functioning sentinels. Ben and Jake were two of those men. Jim’d always had steadfast rules that all sentinels in his city followed. He hadn’t been much into meetings and forming solid ties with many of the sentinels, not minding if they did their own thing for the most part, so long as the basic rules were honored. 

Having Elliot, Blair and JT in the picture changed everything. Jim Ellison didn’t have a wife or children, but he did have a family pack now. He was as committed as any parent or spouse to do right by Blair, Elliot and JT, to protect and support his bond-family. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d never had that kind of life, one that lent itself to simple, effortless solutions and contentment. 

The sweep of the area was slow and detailed. The four men loped through the dark streets and across wet leaves and grass. The air was cool this late coming up on dawn. Mist drifted across the land, wet, clinging. Jim took the lead, Elliot on his heels to the left. Ben and Jake fanned out several yards behind. The pace was fast through mostly industrial areas. The dampness thinned the scent, but Ellison followed it without trouble. A mile, two, ten, and then he slowed, his steps faltered, and stopped. Elliot stopped next to him, placing a hand on Jim’s back below his vest, tucking gloved fingers into the webbed belt. The touch grounded them both, lasting for no more than seconds. 

Jim shook his whole body at the touch. He looked at Stabler for a few moments, his eyes unfocused for several heartbeats, then suddenly sharp and present, leaning into the curled fingers, turning his body he pressed against Elliot, the hold dislodged as they touched all down their sides. Sentinels were practical. Jim took what he needed, his own hand rising to rest over Stabler’s heart, refocusing his senses, adjusting them for a moment, then dialing back into the important sense, scent. Ben and Jake were near, automatic rifles at the ready, sweeping the area, the crunch of their footsteps on the gravely paving fading as Jim got his focus back on scent. Then Jim was off again, but more slowly. They were closing in on their goal now. Very close. 

The building was old, there were no lights on. It was off the beaten path, no homes nearby, a few businesses, but none near enough to compromise their approach unseen. The road swept down and away, cars could approach the building without being observed. There were trucks parked on the far side, five large trailers next to raised loading docks. Cargo entering or leaving the trailers would be visible for only 10-15 feet. And the scent was overwhelming now. Jim growled his anger, his rage. This was an outrage, a violation he could not understand, nor excuse. 

Silent, the sentinels descend on the building, Jake and Ben falling back to the periphery, urged by their prime not to be discovered. They all could hear, scent and even taste what was happening inside. Elliot keyed the mic, his whisper alerting their back-up to the final location. Now they were only waiting for Simon to get to the location with more officers. It wouldn’t be long, they settled in to wait, feral eyes gleaming. No one was going to get free tonight, no one was going to escape justice.

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The SWAT team had been standing by with patience long learned. Eight of Cascade's best, armed to the teeth and protected by the best bulletproof gear. At the alert, they poured out of the truck as it stopped out of sight of the shipping complex and silently handed Jim and Elliot helmets and assault rifles. The sentinels holstered their smaller glocks and rapidly checked the rifles. No one was smiling. They had been waiting for this day too long and now they were going to get the bastards that preyed on children. They moved silently over the parking lot, no one inside the building suspected a thing until the SWAT team, in perfect synchronicity, made entry through both the side doors. Smoke grenades were tossed inside well away from the children, disorienting the fleeing criminals. It was over quickly. 

They found the children locked in large rooms, chairless, with only a few tattered sleeping bags and still carrying the stench of the night’s forced labor.

“Dial it back,” Stabler murmured, coaching his partner. “I should have warned you, you never get used to that smell and what it means.” Elliot had been SVU for years and knew the toll it would take on Jim and himself. 

Both sentinels dialed down all their senses hard and fast. Jim struggled with his need to literally shred the handcuffed men outside. Elliot bumped into him, jostling him from his murderous thoughts. They shared a look filled with the horror and rage that any decent man would feel. 

Elliot had been SVU for years and knew the toll it would take on Jim and himself. Jim was lucky to have Blair, but he and JT were newly bonded and he wondered just how much JT would be willing to help him out when they finally got some alone time together.

Jim only nodded a thank you. He would need Blair now; he pulled out his cell phone to call the guides. They left the rooms following the trail of children toward the outside of the building where ambulances and vans were rolling up.

 

JT and Blair caught a ride with Simon up to the location, hands clasped down below the level of the seats. Simon was reassuring them that both Jim and Elliot were uninjured and merely supervising the processing of the scene. Blair pressed his lips together to keep himself from asking again. JT was quieter, but his posture was stiff, on guard, tense as he looked outside of the vehicle and tried not to remember his past. His even, deliberate breaths were those of a man fighting to remain calm. Blair’s anxiety was discharged outwards, JT’s was internal, fueled by memory. 

Blair tightened his fingers around JT’s hand. “It’s over, we got them,” he whispered needing to say it aloud, sure that JT needed to hear it just as much as he needed to say it. “Jim and Elliott will need us now. Can you pull it together or do you need more time?”

JT took a deep breath through his nose and slowly blew it out through pursed lips. He looked at Blair, his blue-grey eyes were still sad but Blair felt the change happen as his friend exhaled. “I’m good to go,” JT said solemnly and Blair could see and feel that it was true. When the van pulled up to the scene the guides shared a long look, then got out, both gazes sweeping the throngs of men for their partners.

There were dozens of officers in the parking lot where the arrests were being made, the criminals being loaded into the paddy wagons by serious faced men. It was bizarrely quiet, only a few voices giving orders. Murmurs of anger, frustration and once a loud protesting yell from one of the cuffed men being loaded in the transport. 

The heavily armored and armed SWAT officers stood around the periphery, black clad statues grimmly providing security and an unspoken threat. Blair and JT saw their sentinels at the same moment. Simon called out to them to, “wait a goddamn minute.” Neither man listened. Gun barrels lifted as the two hurried towards the grouped officers. 

“Let the Guides through.” Jim said, loud enough to be heard. The guns swerved off target and at least six officers took several steps back to give Blair and JT a clear path to the sentinels, the single word clueing them into just how much they didn’t want to chance shooting one of the men approaching. Jim draped a long arm across Blair’s shoulders, Elliot stepping around him and reaching for his own guide.

The night wasn’t over for any of them. Shortly they would have to go back into the building and make sure no evidence was missed. Sentinels were walking crime labs, and this case would need every scrap of available evidence to assure that no one got off with less than they deserved, no matter how large the bribes offered were. 

 

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Getting the children away from the scene and to the hospitals that were on alert to care for them took more than three hours. Each child needed to be triaged into ambulances at the scene to make sure none were lost or misplaced at the hospital. Extra paramedics and nurses had been dispatched to accompany them. 

The ambulances lined up in the respective bays waiting for each child to receive his or her plastic hospital ID bracelet and each child was checked to see if any immediate first aid was needed. Blair and JT would not leave the victims until there was someone else there with them dedicated to their care. Then the guides had gone with their sentinels, exhaustion imprinted on their faces, and something more painful deep and unending in their eyes. 

Jim had known that Blair would have to stay with the kids, to help them and himself. He hadn’t been as sure about how JT would handle it. He’d read what JT had gone through in prison. If it had happened to him he wasn’t sure he would have been able to be around other rape victims and stay professional. JT had been quiet and gentle at the scene. He’d formed a connection with the children, barely speaking. Kids were smart, they knew JT would never hurt them, that he knew, in a way few other adult men did, what they had been through.

Jim noticed that Elliot was particularly careful and solicitous in how he treated his guide when the four met up again. He hadn't had much experience with special victims but Elliot’s training and experience showed. He saw Elliot watching JT and checking in on Blair, he noticed how Elliot kept his distance when JT or Blair made a connection with the kids. Elliot’s experience in New York was a huge asset to the case. When the last of the children were transported out the four men walked to their car. The drive home was silent, but not uncomfortable. They parted in the hallway by mutual unspoken agreement heading towards their own apartments. 

@@@@@@@@@

Elliot and JT took off their jackets in silence. JT went into the bathroom, not closing the door, Elliot listened to the tap turn on, and saw JT was splashing his face, bent low over the sink. Elliot understood; he didn’t want to be alone either, didn’t want to have any barriers between himself and his guide. He heard the shower turn on and took the open door to be an invitation. Elliot slipped out of his clothes and stepped into the large two person shower. JT handed him the sentinel friendly soap without saying a word. 

“Let me get your back,” Elliot said, as if it were regular dinner conversation, rather than an unusual act for both of them. JT nodded and turned around, water running down over his back. Elliot was struck again by the slender strength of the other man. There was real, solid muscle under his hands. The bubbles drifting downward almost pulled Elliot’s gaze in too hard. But leaning in closer, inhaling Toby’s scent redirected his attention, splitting it back into the safety zone. His hands slid over the smooth skin, willing the tension to leave as his firm touch passed over the hard muscles of JT’s back..

The shower was faster and more efficient than Elliot might have wanted any other day. Elliot closed his eyes and rested his palms and forehead against the shower tiles wall when it was his turn to have his back washed. When they were finished sentinel and guide each dried themselves and got dressed for bed.

JT always wore a T-shirt and sleep pants to bed, wanting to be covered. Elliot preferred boxers and a wife beater tank, anything more and he’d fight it off during the night. They didn’t bother to turn on the lights in the loft bedroom. The light from outside dappling the floor in pale golden patches.

The first touch between them was tentative as the sentinel reached out, slipping his fingers through damp blond curls, until his palm cupped the back of his guide’s skull, wisps of soft hair surrounding his hand, cool with evaporating moisture. Their heads bent as they moved closer, JT’s forehead coming to rest against Elliot’s chin. 

They stood that way for a long time before JT got up the courage to whisper to his sentinel. It was no more than a soft exhale, but Elliot heard it clearly. “I need you.”

Elliot cupped JT’s chin and tilted it up so that he could look into JT’s eyes, “I know,” he said and then the corners of his mouth curled up slightly as Elliot spoke the words that seemed to make the earth move, “I need you, too.” 

 

tbc...


End file.
